


Such a Lovely Place

by happy_birthday_diane_use_a_pretty_font



Category: Archer (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Blood Kink, Brothers, Character Turned Into Vampire, Cheating, Clones, F/F, F/M, M/M, Slow Burn, Vampire Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-03-13 08:07:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 51,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18936865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happy_birthday_diane_use_a_pretty_font/pseuds/happy_birthday_diane_use_a_pretty_font
Summary: 1947. A poor, destitute immigrant - Aaron Leibowitz, now Aaron Krieger - stumbles across the mansion of a mysterious Frenchman in the mountains of California.





	1. An Unexpected Host

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, guys. This was a birthday gift for my friend, but I thought I'd share it. I will provide in-text translations to any non-English words that you need to know and aren't cognates.  
> I live for reviews. Enjoy.

The doctor pulled his woolen cap further over his eyes. He’d long since stowed his glasses in the breast pocket of his overcoat. It was only nine o’clock, but the sky was jet black, and cold sheets of rain poured over him, down his neck, into his shoes, and before him, obscuring his eyesight beyond the help of his, frankly, outdated specs. He didn’t stand a chance.

He just wanted somewhere warm to rest, but with hardly any money in his pocket, whatever hotel he stumbled upon would likely be too expensive for him, anyway. But cost can be measured in more than cash.    


He turned a corner and, to his surprise, was greeted by the looming silhouette of a grand mansion. His bewilderment disappeared quite quickly;  _ this  _ was why the road he’d been following had turned to gravel. Why the shrubbery became (from what he could detect through the rain and darkness) fuller and greener. He’d been approaching the house for nearly a half mile, inadvertently following the long driveway.

The mansion was still rather far, and not a single window was illuminated, but he trudged onward toward it. Its grand face - made up of columns and towers and intricate carvings - was too alluring to turn away from. Sucking a string of phlegm back into his nose, and hitching his pack a bit higher, he made his was further up the drive.

It was a long, straight path, but immediately before the stone steps, it was circular, with a fountain in the middle. The O was, presumably, so that whoever had driven up didn’t have to drive back down the way in reverse. As for the fountain, the doctor couldn’t make out the forms depicted, or even whether the water was running (the fountain was overflowing, but certainly the torrents could be behind that).

His foot had just hit the first step when the mansion door opened, bathing him in a long, thin strip of yellow light. He looked up, and found that there was a crick in his neck; for miles, he’d been hunched over watching his feet, trying to avoid potholes and stones. Now, he looked high up toward the door.

The figure standing there was tall, and cast a long shadow. They were wearing a hood of some kind, obscuring any helpful features.

_ “Bonjour!” _ called the figure.  _ “ _ _ As-tu besoin d'aide?” _

“I’m sorry?”

“Ah, an American?”

“Of sorts.” The doctor climbed a few more steps. “I’m looking for shelter, maybe a meal, if you can spare it.”

“Come, come!”

Now that he had permission, the doctor bounded up the steps two at a time, sighing with relief once he was under the porch roof. The figure, he saw now, was wearing a brown cloak with fur trim so thick that all he could make out were the man's brown eyes.

“You said you were hungry,  _ Monsieur?” _

“Starving.”

The man led him inside. The warmth hit the doctor so hard that his nose and fingertips began to hurt, but it was a pleasant feeling.

Although his body was warming up, his clothes, decidedly, were not, so he began to remove his coat, only to find that it was about three pounds heavier than it had been when he put it on. His shirt, too, was densely saturated, and if he could feel his extremities, he knew his pants and socks would be dripping. Dripping all over the rather intimidating foyer of this stranger’s home.

The foyer was well-lit, by candles and lanterns alike. Overlooking it was a second-floor balcony, and a third-floor balcony above that. Those halls, as far as the doctor could tell, were just as warm and bright. He realized that the reason no lights shone through the dark rain was because all of the curtains were tightly drawn.

His host, meanwhile, had begun to yell for servants, demanding a meal and bath be prepared for his guest.

“Oh, there’s no need - I wouldn’t want to wake them up, or cause any trouble!”

_ “Monsieur, _ our day has just begun!” He removed his cloak and watched as his guest examined his appearance.

His host was adorned in a black shirt, a woman’s blouse, with a flared neckline and sleeves. He was wearing high-waisted slacks, typical of the day, but not high enough to conceal the sliver of midriff exposed by his shirt. The doctor put his glasses (which fogged almost instantly) on and noticed the particular rosiness of this man’s cheeks. Rouge, most definitely.

A servant entered the foyer, saying, “You're back already?” and paused when she saw the guest. “Too good!”

“He fell into my arms! Go fry him an egg, and let us get acquainted.”

When the woman left, the doctor held out his hand and said, “My name is Doctor Aaron Krieger.”

His host looked at his hand but didn’t take it. “A German?” 

“I…” He tried to discern what angle to assume.

“I happen to appreciate the Jewish people in particular - their music and food, especially. Shall I cancel your egg?”

Bold. Krieger liked that, and decided to take a chance. After all, his host was willing to stand before him, unashamedly made up (Krieger noticed, upon closer inspection, his host's lips were redder than what was natural) and in women’s clothes. He reached down his collar and took out his necklace: an almost microscopic, but undeniable, silver star of David. 

“An egg would be the height of luxury.”

The host smirked and took his still-outstretched hand, placing it in Krieger’s in such a position that the doctor was compelled to kiss his knuckles, but chose merely to shake his hand. 

“You’ve seen nothing of luxury.” As he turned to lead Krieger to the dining room, he said, “Oh, and my name is Ray. Like, of the sunshine.” The irony of this was lost on Krieger, for now.

 

Ray refused to serve him a bite of food until he’d showered and changed. (Fair.) When Krieger emerged from the bathroom, however, his clothes had been taken for washing, but none extra were left on the bed. There were socks, and underwear, and a bathrobe so fluffy and warm that Krieger was compelled to bury his face in it for a moment, but no real clothes. Perhaps his host assumed he had a change of clothes in his backpack? Though, they’d be just as soaked as the rest of his belongings. 

Krieger was too hungry and tired to be bothered. He doubted his eccentric master would mind as he slipped into the robe and underthings, along with his glasses. With clear vision, he saw all the ornate details of his bedroom in sharp relief. It was intimidating. He felt too uncouth to be in such a place, too dirty and uncivilized. But more than that, the looming mansion was too conspicuous for his taste.

Ray was at the foot of the stairs, waiting for him. He led him to the dining room, where a fire roared in the fireplace, backlighting the intricately carved chair at the head of the table. Krieger assumed that would be his host's seat, and thus was surprised when Ray pulled out the chair and indicated for him to rest there.

Sensing his guest's confusion, Ray said, “I want you close to the fire,  _ docteur _ . A wet chill doesn't leave a man's bones easily.”

“Thank you.” When he sat, he expected Ray to take his seat at the other head of the long, long table, but was surprised again when he settled into the chair on Krieger's right side. This decision, he did not explain.

Someone set a plate of eggs and steak in front of him, and he lost any control he’d been trying to maintain. He ate like a free man; He had no idea that his life was on the line.

Ray was leaning on his hand, watching him closely. Despite the doctor’s sunken cheekbones, his physique was not the skeletal form Ray had expected. His hands weren’t bony and spider-like, but healthy, pink, and masculine. Probably quite warm. Krieger’s broad shoulders almost strained the robe, and his height left the hemline in a most immodest place, exposing his meaty thighs. Unfortunately, the robe fell in such a way that Ray couldn’t get a good look at the doctor’s torso, but he inferred that a sweet little belly could be found beneath the fluffy layer. Probably hairy, too, judging by the legs. He watched as the doctor ate like a savage, not bothering to cut the strips of steak before eating them.

Without asking, Ray reached out and pulled the collar of the robe away, so it fell down Krieger’s shoulder, exposing his neck. Needless to say, he paused from eating.

Ray caressed a green mark on his neck. “The piece is fake, then?”

“Hm?”

“The necklace. It’s fake.”

“Oh! Well, the chain is, but the pendant itself is real silver.”

Ray took his hand away. The doctor noticed his lip was curled.

“You don’t like silver?”

“I have the sensitive skin.”

“Your coloring goes more toward gold, anyway.”

Ray covered his mouth with his hand, not in shock, but to conceal his smile. “What does that mean?”

“Oh, you know.” He’d resumed eating, but with less urgency; now, he was soaking up the puddle of yolk with his toast. “You have the blonde hair, brown eyes, gold just matches better.”

“You noticed my eyes?”

“I’m a doctor: observant by nature.” The evasion was intentional.

“Well, I’m no doctor, but I certainly noticed yours…” He took Krieger’s chin in his hand and forced his posture upward.  _ “ _ _ Émeraudes." Emeralds. _

_ “Dan -  _ Thank you.” He didn’t notice himself lean into the touch (despite the surprising chilliness of Ray's hand) as Ray removed it. Ray most certainly caught the motion.

“You forget,  _ docteur, _ I know you are German. You may speak freely here.”

_ “Danke mein Herr.” Thank you, sir. _

Ray smirked, again raising his hand to cover it. “Such a...masculine language.”

“I like it, sometimes.”

“And other times?”

“Other times I wish I spoke French.” He gestured with his fork, “Rolls off the tongue.”

“Mmm...Where your eyes are _ l _ _ l _ _ es émeraudes, _ your tongue is  _ un rubis.” ...A ruby. _

Krieger shifted in his seat. He knew the persuasion of his host, of course. At first, he thought that his snakelike flirtations were merely his personality, a master of flattery and an exquisite host. Now, he began to suspect genuine interest. He wished he’d been provided more than a robe. 

Before he could respond, Ray placed his hand on Krieger’s cheek, stroking under his eye with a thumb.

“You look exhausted,  _ docteur. _ Have you eaten enough?”

Krieger looked down at his plate and found, to his surprise, that it was empty. “Apparently so.”

Ray nodded, and pulled out two cigarettes: one for himself, which he fixed to the end of a long, black holder, and one for the doctor.

“Then,  _ bonne nuit. Dors bien _ _ , mon jouet.” _

_ “Gute Nacht. Nochmals vielen Dank.” _

 

Krieger climbed the twisted staircase to the second floor, where his room was. He was surprised to find a fire in the grate. Before going to sleep, he rekindled it to its full potential, and unpacked his bag before it, laying everything out to dry. He suspected the endeavor was futile. The thick canvas pack itself would never be dry by morning, by which time he’d have to stow his belongings away, again, and return to the road.

For now, he was just grateful for the warm room, the soft bed, and the fresh underwear. He lifted the heavy blanket over his head (the fire was bright) and drifted off to sleep.

 

When Krieger awoke, the fire had gone mostly out, plunging the room into blue darkness. He groaned as he stood - his bones ached - and hobbled over to the window. To his surprise, it was still dark outside. His slumber could’ve been an hour or five, he had no clue. All he knew was his dry tongue and rumbling stomach. Pleased to find his cigarette from earlier (only half-smoked) on the bedside table, he lit it with the hot coals. He let it hang out of his mouth as he slipped his robe on and, relying mostly on the railing, made his groggy way downstairs.

He found himself in the dining room, simply because it was the only room he felt confident about. Luckily, Ray was in there, eating dinner while scanning the book perched before him. He looked up when Krieger entered. Ray was in his rightful seat before the fireplace.

“Awake so soon!”

“I...I got thirsty.”

“Down the hall is the kitchen.”

“Which door?”

“You’ll see; they keep it open.”

Krieger trudged down the hall, rubbing his eyes as he went. The clang of a pot hitting the floor startled him.

“Look what you did, moron!”

“Better on the floor than in your mouth!”

“Christ, don’t snap your cap, I’ll clean it up.”

Just then, the cook noticed Krieger in the doorway.

“You’re the special guest, huh?” The cook, much like Ray, toed the line of gender ambiguity, but did a much better job at blurring the lines. Krieger had no clue what this person was born as or what they were going for, but found he didn’t care. In fact, being in the presence of people so flagrantly rejecting tradition was comforting.

“Aw,” said the maid, like she pitied him for the night of luxury and warmth he’d just endured.

The cook nudged her. “This one’s gonna be here awhile.”

“Huh?”

“Ray said so. Besides, if he’s still  _ here _ now - ”  _ here _ meaning  _ alive _ “ - there’s obviously a plan.”

Krieger was too tired try and figure that out. “Ray said to come down here for some food and water?”

“Some Joe’s what you need!” The cook passed him a mug and directed him to the coffee pot. “Milk’s in the fridge. I’ll heat up some dinner for you.”

“What time is it?”

“5:30, maybe 6.”

“In the morning?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Then what makes it dinner?”

The cook gave him a sideways look, but didn’t respond.

Krieger drank his coffee, then another cupful, and felt the life blossoming behind his eyes. When the cook handed him a plate of meat and potatoes, he headed back to the dining room, only to be reprimanded.

_ “Docteur!  _ Surely you don’t dress that way for dinner!”

“It’s 6 A.M.”

“I will not eat next to…” He gestured toward Krieger’s dishevelled appearance, from his mussed and curly hair down to his uneven socks. “I must insist that you change.”

“Your servant took my clothes,” said Krieger, getting annoyed.

Smiling, Ray chided, “ _ Mon jouet, _ did you think to check your closet?”

 

Several minutes later, Krieger reentered. He was wearing a white shirt with a high collar, a tie with a geometric pattern, and a vest, jacket, and pants, all of which were brown and rigidly creased.

“I’m no expert, but I don’t think these are...current.”

Ray’s eyes lit up. “Oh, but didn’t you just  _ love _ the twenties?!”

“The fashion was different in Germany.”

“Oh, what I wouldn’t give to go back in time.”

Krieger sat and began to eat. “You enjoyed college, then?”

_ “Pardon?” _

“I don’t know how old you are - ” truer words had never been spoken “ - but I suspect you’d have been college-aged in the twenties...?” 

Ray merely looked away and chuckled, “I’m flattered.”   
“I bet you wore those long strings of pearls, down to your, um... _ Nabel.” _ He pointed at his own belly button.

This, too, excited Ray. “Oh, I still do! The money i spent on those pearls, I’ll wear them for a century at least! And you,  _ docteur,  _ I should love to see you in a pair of plus-fours.”

“Never!”

_ “S'il vous plaît, _ you cannot hide those legs from the world!”

Krieger snorted through a mouthful of potatoes. “I beg your pardon?”

“They are shapely,  _ mon jouet _ , surely you knew that?”

He was openly laughing, now. “I have never once been complimented for my  _ legs!” _

_ “C’est tragique!” _

Krieger, still smiling, merely shook his head at his eccentric host.

Ray wiped his mouth and stood from the table. “My apologies,” he said, “But I have work that must be done before I retire.”

“Retire? Like, go to bed?”

_ “Oui.” _

Krieger had already learned not to question this.

As he left the room, Ray said, “Feel free to explore the house while I’m asleep.”

“Oh, sir, I must be going.”

_ “Pardon?” _

Krieger turned and looked up at his host. “I should get going, right after I’m done eating, in fact.”

“Nonsense. I insist you stay at least a week.”

“A week?! I…”

“Someone is expecting you? You have an appointment?”

“No, I didn’t have anything planned, but…”

“Stay. Until that cold goes away, at least.”

“Cold?” 

“Explore,  _ mon jouet, _ I think you will appreciate the library, especially. And don’t worry; anywhere you are not allowed to go will be locked.”

 

Krieger did, indeed, explore the house. 

He began with the outside. In the back, below looming palms, was a gorgeous patio. Beyond that was a garden, diverse and colorful, with a gravel path running through it.

Krieger ventured down the driveway to get a good look at the house (He passed the fountain on the way. It turned out to be a sculpture of two muscular men, pawing at each other. A stream of water washed over them, mimicking sweat.) The house itself was as massive as he remembered, an amalgamation of columns and long, high windows.

Inside, Krieger spent some time simply wandering the halls. The twisted staircases and railings were gorgeously carved. The walls were covered with art, landscapes and portraits and still lives alike, as well as pieces such as Japanese swords and grand Swiss clocks. Among the three stories were countless bedrooms, all of which were very interesting. Some were covered in a thick layer of dust, while others were still missing sheets, which were being washed from the previous resident.

Every room contained belongings. Sometimes just pennies in a drawer, other times full outfits, books, wallets (missing identification, but stuffed nonetheless), watches, and more. Krieger pocketed nothing. In the quiet of the mansion, it was easy to feel as though he was being watched. He’d deluded himself into thinking it was some kind of moral test, like the staff inventoried all the lost and forgotten items, and would know if one went missing. 

Some of the things were rather sinister. For example, under the pillow of one room was a long, silver dagger. In another was a journal, where the last entry (dated only a week prior) merely said “He,” and then a scribbled line, as if the book had been snatched away from the writer. That room had a large, black stain on the mattress. Perhaps the inkwell had burst, startling the writer, resulting in the scribble…

When Krieger finally stumbled upon the library, it was most unexpected. The door was the same as the bedrooms, and hidden away at the end of a second floor hallway. He opened the door and was greeted by a ceiling so tall, he was sure it extended into the third floor’s topography. This must be the tower he saw outside.

He threw open the heavy curtains, washing the room in California sunlight. The first place he went was the small shelf above the armchairs; Ray’s frequent reads. 

There were three books: A large, glossy volume of illustrations titled  _ Womenswear: A Catalogue of the Roaring Twenties, _ a hardcover copy of  _ The Picture of Dorian Gray _ , and a French to English dictionary.

Krieger sat down with the dictionary, and after some searching (he knew less than nothing about French, by which I mean what little he thought he knew was entirely incorrect) found the entry he’d been looking for.

_ Mon jouet.  _ “My toy.”

 

At nearly eight o’clock, Ray found Krieger in the library, bent over a copy of  _ The Great Gatsby _ . 

Ray fluttered into the room wearing a black shawl, long enough to qualify as a dress, but not a dress one would wear in public. Once again, a bit of his midriff was exposed; the neckline plunged, and a long string of pearls rested up against his warm skin. (Or, Krieger assumed it was warm.) On his head was a simple black turban, dark eyeshadow, and rather more lipstick than the day before.

_ “Bonjour, mon jouet.” _

Krieger felt a silent thrill.  _ “Guten Morgen,  _ _ Spielzeug _ _.” _

_ “Spielzeug?!” _ he butchered. “I presume that means something like ‘lazy’? The sleeping beauty, I hope?”

“Something like that.” It meant toy, but Krieger resolved not to use it again; he rather liked being Ray's plaything.

Ray chuckled. “You will get used to this manor’s clock, eventually. Come, it’s time for breakfast.”

Without asking what “eventually” meant, Krieger followed Ray downstairs. He stayed about 5 feet behind, wary of stepping on the flowing material.

Over breakfast (Ray was, again, seated at the head of the table, with Krieger by his side) Ray informed his guest he’d be absent for the day - that is, the night. 

“I have two days’ worth of work to do, since you came to us yesterday and overthrew my routine.” 

Krieger smiled back, basking under the attention. For some reason, while Ray slept, Krieger found himself missing his company. At least he’d be able to sleep through Ray’s absence for tonight.

He paused. If he slept tonight, he’d wake up tomorrow morning as Ray went to sleep, spend the day without him, eat breakfast with him, then go back to bed for the night...a vicious cycle.

The doctor decided to stay up that night, aligning their schedules; after all, he was meant to stay the week, maybe longer. He had coughed earlier. Maybe the cold that Ray predicted was indeed settling in.

Vaguely, he thought, lack of sleep will only extend the life of the cold. Distinctly, he did not care.

 

He stayed up that night, mostly reading, until Ray got home around 6. He knew when Ray arrived home because Cheryl, the maid, found him and told him Ray had requested his presence. Pleasantly weary, Krieger followed her to Ray’s room.

He didn’t really need her, because Ray’s room was right where he thought it was: the glossy, cherrywood double doors on the third floor.

Ray had barely settled in when Krieger entered.

“Good evening,  _ docteur.” _

“Hello.”

Ray removed the string of pearls and hung it upon a large sculpture of a barren tree, on which many necklaces and bracelets were perched for storage. Neither of them spoke, but Krieger used to opportunity to examine the room around him. The room itself was almost the size of the dining room, and the hardwood floors (cherry, like everything else) were glossy. Krieger saw his disheveled reflection in the wood and frantically pawed at his hair. Around the bed was a deep red rug with gold tassels, too soft and thick to ever have been tread upon, he was sure.

The bed itself was so magnificently large, it must have been custom made. Krieger couldn’t get a good look at the bedspread, for the sheets were unmade. Evidently, Ray didn’t allow the staff in his room during the day.

On the bedside tables were ornate, Japanese lamps, matching the paintings on the wall and paper screen in the corner of the room. Although, why it was there was a mystery. Ray removed his turban (placing it carefully in its hatbox) and then, with his back to the doctor, unwound his intricate wrap, not bothering with any semblance of modesty. He let the long garment flutter to the floor (not worried about dust, because the floor was immaculate), exposing his marble sculpted back. Krieger couldn’t let himself look any lower than the back, or he’d surely lose control. Consequently, he didn’t notice that Ray was wearing women’s panties. 

Ray covered himself with a white, silk robe, embroidered with a tiger, and a white turban this time. Finally, he faced Krieger, and sat on the edge of his bed.

“I have many friends,  _ docteur.  _ But far more than my friends are those who owe me favors.”

“Oh?”

_ “Oui. _ You see, I have a system. Sit.”

Krieger sat a healthy distance from his host.

“I pulled some strings, and - should you want it - got you a job.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Night shift, at the clinic in town. Seven in the evening to midnight, four days each week. There's a spare truck out back, mostly used by the landscapers, you can drive it there and back. I suspect your...curiosities far exceed that position, but it’s a start. Work your way to the top, use it as a reference, whatever you choose. Now, you are established as a doctor in the United States - I assumed your papers were lost, which is why you came to me so  _ pauvre?” _

“I...I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Oh, don’t you?”

Krieger looked up, meeting Ray’s eyes for the first time over the course of the conversation. His red lips were parted slightly, powdered lids sensually low over his eyes, long lashes fluttering towards him…

Tentatively, Krieger leaned in, only to be stopped at the last second by Ray’s hand on his chest. Ray took a deep breath through his nose. Krieger could tell that Ray was smelling him, though they were inches away from each other.

_ “Mon jouet, _ you taste like a strawberry on my tongue,” he whispered.

_ “Your tongue _ hasn’t tasted me yet.”

Ray inhaled again at the image (though he and Krieger were picturing two entirely different scenarios). “The only thing sweeter than you is  _ l’anticipation.” _

“Let me show you my gratitude.”

Ray shook his head. “Tell Poovey to send dinner to my room, tonight.”

“Sir…”

“Goodnight.” He was smiling. Krieger was sure he had a dazzling smile, if only he didn’t keep his lips closed so tight. How bad could his teeth possibly be? Surely it was nothing he lacked the money to fix.

“Wait, just one thing.”

“Yes?”

“You mentioned a system? That's why so many people owe you favors?”

“Ah,” he smirked. “Yes, you see, my friend at the clinic owed me a favor. Now, he has redeemed it. To some, that seems like a waste; they like to have someone to rely on.”

“Kind of...You didn't even use the favor for yourself.”

Ray sighed and laid down upon the bed. “But now,  _ you _ owe me. I will inform you when I'm ready for the favor,  _ mon jouet,  _ but until then…”

Krieger nodded and left.

 

When he went back down to his room, he found Carol changing the sheets. His belongings were nowhere in sight.

“Before you ask,” she said, “He told me to move all your sh- all your  _ things _ upstairs.”

“So, where do I sleep?”

“The room to the left of his.”

“Thanks...And, could you tell Poovey that he’s taking dinner in his room tonight?”

 

Upstairs, Krieger was delighted to find that his en suite bathroom shared a wall with Ray’s bedroom. As he ate his dinner, he sat in the tub and listened to Ray move around. 

At one point he heard an unfamiliar voice, but it stopped quite suddenly. Krieger assumed it was the radio, but noted the apparent thinness of the walls.

Later, in the shower, he made no attempt to conceal his moan. He watched his cum hit the tiles and relished in the knowledge that Ray knew what he’d just done.

Finally, after twenty four hours of being awake, he collapsed into bed just as the sun began to rise.

He was officially acclimated.


	2. Arousing Suspicion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Considered censoring this, but didn't. Enjoy

The next day, Ray meticulously oversaw his tailor take Krieger’s measurements. The moment the last digit was recorded, Ray banished the doctor from the room and saw to the design of his clothes. Krieger pitied the tailor.

The cat and mouse didn’t see much of each other over the course of the next few weeks. Krieger had started his new job, and was relieved to find that he excelled. However, his eagerness to come in early and stay late meant that he barely bothered with his appearance, hardly tasted the luxurious food he was given, and definitely missed out on Ray’s sparkling conversation. He found himself extending his shifts far in each direction, barely even making meals. Half the time, he didn't even realize he was hungry.

One thing he couldn’t  _ help  _ but notice was the plethora of strange voices coming from Ray’s room. Every few nights, for a minute or two, Krieger heard a different voice. Only for that minute or two, and always distinctly different.

He brought it up one night over a hasty breakfast.

Ray frowned.  _ “C’est impossible. _ My room is soundproof.”

“Do you hear  _ me?” _

“I could, if I listened, but I assure you there is no way for you to penetrate my side.”

“Well, you must have  _ very  _ loud friends.” Now that he thought about it, he never heard Ray’s responses during these conversations. Only the guests. 

“I do not bring guests to my chambers. Perhaps it is a ghost.”

“There are most certainly no ghosts.”

Ray’s expression was cold. “Never talk of certainty in my home.”

Krieger frantically tried to melt the ice. “Besides, I know for a fact you’ve brought at least  _ one  _ guest up to your room.”

An almost imperceptible twitch of Ray’s eyebrow.

“Me. Remember?”

Ray broke eye contact, looking down at his plate in...was that embarrassment? No, it couldn’t be. But then, the emotion didn’t matter. He broke, and that was that.

_ “Mon jouet, _ I meant to ask, did you ever complete  _ The Great Gatsby?” _

Krieger nodded. “I finished it that day.”

“And what did you think?”

“I liked it. Gatsby himself was a bit spineless, though.”

Ray nodded uncommitally. “I adore that book.”

“Oh?”

“Well, you know how I feel about the twenties, but I also have a particular fondness for New York.”

“I didn’t realize.”

Ray nodded again and, quite suddenly, pushed his plate away and stood.

“Leaving so soon?”

“I have things to do. Besides, surely you have  _ work?” _

The disgust in Ray’s voice at the mention of his job startled Krieger. He watched from the corner of his eye as Ray flitted out of the room, morning robe like a butterfly’s wing, fluttering behind him.

“Wait,” called Krieger.

Ray turned. 

_ “Do _ you listen?”

_ “Pardon?” _

“Through my wall. Do you listen?”

Ray opened his mouth, seemingly at a loss for words. Krieger couldn’t believe it. 

Finally, Ray settled on, “If I did...would you mind,  _ mon jouet?” _

Now, Krieger stood, and approached Ray. He stood just an inch too close and noticed his host smelled like tobacco, Dior, and...pennies?

“I’m not your  _ jouet.” _

“Oh? Why not?”

“Because to be a toy, one must be played with.”

Ray’s cheeks grew just a bit redder around the rouge - evidently he didn’t realize that Krieger knew the meaning behind his nickname - but without flinching, replied, “Oh, but I am. You simply don’t know the rules to my game.”

Without giving Krieger a chance to respond, Ray moved onward, very aware that Krieger was watching him walk away. Krieger himself wasn’t sure if he was supposed to follow, but decided against it; two could play the game, dance the teasing dance.

 

After that conversation, Krieger spent a late night at work, not to distract himself, but to think clearly. Due a freak accident involving a reflex test, the patient's foot, and Krieger’s face, he found himself with a nasty nosebleed. He sat in his office, wide eyed, bleeding into his handkerchief. But it wasn’t the pain and mess that bothered him.

Just before the nosebleed occurred, Krieger smelled it coming. It was a familiar, overwhelming scent, so specific there was no mistaking it. It was metallic, copper, pennies. Ray without the Dior. Blood.

That very night, Krieger could swear he heard someone on Ray’s side of the wall. He pressed his ear to the bathroom wall, but it was no use. Even if the room wasn’t soundproofed, it was concealed by oak walls and imported tile.

He was familiar with the basics of soundproofing and therefore realized there must be a weak spot. A window, or a door...A huge, cherry door, perhaps? It was still heavy and thick, not great for conducting sound, but at least it wasn’t deliberately insulated like the walls.

Krieger tried to make himself as light as possible as he tiptoed out his door and into the hall. Luckily, the grand house had no creaky floorboards.

He pressed his ear to the door and listened closely.

No words could be deciphered, but Krieger heard Ray’s lilting voice quite clearly, and a deeper one responding. Barely even buzzes through the door. Until, after a minute, the guest got louder. The source seemed to move about the room, as if frantically pacing.

Suddenly, footsteps, and the voice grew closer and closer, one panicked note: a scream. All at once there was a loud thud, the scream ceased, and something flew out from beneath the door and hit Krieger’s shoe. A single black drop, but it was something.

When he wiped off the little orb with his pinky, he saw it wasn’t black, after all, but bright red. He smelled his finger. Copper.

He was frozen in place. Could this be real? Was this happening?

The doctor simply turned, slipped back into his room, and remained there undisturbed - not mentally, that is - all night.

 

The next morning, Ray was late to breakfast, and when he did appear, was wearing only his Japanese robe. Literally, only the robe. His cheeks were rosy, as were his lips, but it looked natural today.

_ “Guten Morgen.” _

“Isn’t it?” He sat at the head of the table and made his plate (simply a raspberry pinwheel). “I have only one thing to do today.”

“And what’s that?”

“Answer the door.” In response to Krieger’s blank look, Ray clarified, “The rest of your clothes arrive in just a few minutes!”

“There’s more?” Krieger had been rotating the same three suits, which he found luxurious.

Ray’s jaw dropped.  _ “Mon jouet, _ you have not learned a thing! I want you home as early as possible tonight to try everything on.”

“When should I pay you back?”

Ray shook his head, smiling. “Not a thing...My repayment will be your presence, tonight, in my chambers.” The doorbell rang, and Ray stood instantly. “We will finally play,  _ mon jouet.” _

Krieger’s ears perked up, any fears and suspicions regarding murder and blood banished from his mind. “Oh?”

_ “Oui, le _ dress-up!”

“Wait,” called Krieger. Ray backtracked into the room with a quizzical look. “You...you have some raspberry on your lip.”

Ray furrowed his brows and darted his tongue out.

“Um, the other side…” 

The image of Ray sweeping his tongue from one corner of his mouth to the other would distract him all day.

On his way out for work, Krieger passed Ray, perched on the staircase, directing a man with several garment bags. He knew no French, but could tell Ray was reprimanding the man, likely for indelicate handling of the clothes. Ray climbed a few steps higher, and from his worm’s eye view, Krieger would be able to see clear up his robe. 

If he’d had the courage to peek.

 

He worked from 7 P.M. to midnight that night, returning home just after Ray’s noon.

Krieger found everyone in the kitchen. Ray was leaning on the countertop, scraping the sides of a now-empty bowl of dark brown batter, laughing along to Poovey’s story. The cook was slipping a pan into the oven just as Krieger walked in.

“Hello,” he said, meeting Ray’s sparkling eyes. Hot around the collar - must be the oven - he decided to shed his jacket. “What’re we doing?”

“Hardly workin’,” said Poovey.

“You’re early,” said Ray.

“Just following orders.”

He nodded approvingly. “Then here’s another: Go shower and groom, and by the time you’ve finished, our treats will be ready.”

“In a minute…” he approached and dipped his finger in the batter bowl. He maintained eye contact as he licked it clean. Without missing a beat, Ray snatched Krieger’s jacket from his hands like a magician with a tablecloth, and slipped it on.

_ “Ich heiße Herr Doktor!”  _ He marched over to Poovey and nudged her.  _ “Wo ist die Toilette?” _

“Why’re you asking for the bathroom?” Krieger asked, failing to hide his grin.

“I know only a few phrases!”

“And that’s the one you chose?”

Ray looked away. “The rest are not...appropriate.”

“Oh? Who taught you dirty words,  _ Liebling?” _

“I spent a summer in Berlin.”

“And only learned your name, curse words, and the bathroom?”

“Oh, not curse words! Picture this.  _ Ich heiße _ Ray.  _ Fick mich du Schlampe. _ And then, when it’s over:  _ Wo ist die Toilette? _ Anything else, I will find in my pocket dictionary.”

Krieger was biting the inside of his lip. “I should…”

“Go take your shower.” As Krieger left, he heard Ray add,  _ “Schmutziger Schlingel.”  _ He was still wearing Krieger’s jacket.

In the shower, Krieger masturbated as best he could, but he was overwhelmed by the fantasies that flashed through his mind. Alternating scenes of himself and Ray, hot and sweaty, mixed with sick images of Ray covered in blood and wielding a blade, confused him. They started to combine, and it was the thought of Ray smiling down on him, choking him as he fellated the barrel of a gun, that accompanied his orgasm. He leaned against the cold wall, panting, and tried to regain composure.

 

Half an hour later, Krieger knocked on Ray’s door, and was almost immediately turned away.

“All of the washes and oils and soaps I bought for you, and you still smell like a bar of Palmolive!”

“I’ll put on some cologne.”

_ “Non, non,  _ I don’t trust you. Gather your toiletries and bring them to me.”

Krieger obeyed, and thus, the game began.

First, Krieger was commanded to strip down to his underthings; socks, shorts, and undershirt. Ray wordlessly applied a few meager drops of cologne to Krieger’s neck, chest, and thighs, the latter of which was unexpected, and the cold liquid against sensitive skin caused Krieger to jump a mile high. But Ray was quick, and had removed the glass applicator practically the moment it touched the pale skin.

Ray was using this process as an excuse to survey his little doctor in just skivvies. He’d been right about the belly.

Next, Ray unpacked a tortoiseshell brush and comb from their case (which Krieger had never even peeked at). With pursed lips and a bit of effort, he combed out Krieger’s beard, and moisturized it with a few drops of lavender scented oil. He worked some Wildwood cream into Krieger’s still-wet hair.

“It’s like straw, the poor thing,” Ray pouted. Finally, he rubbed some Brylcreem on his hands and slicked back Krieger’s hair. “Follow me. There’s a mirror in the bathroom.”

Krieger slipped his glasses back on and followed Ray, who stopped at the door and merely pointed into the room. 

“Yikes!” said the doctor. Ray had made his hair smooth and shiny, and somehow added dimension to his wiry beard.

“You like the mustache? It’s all the rage. Or, I hope so; I predict in a few years all the boys will wear curls just like that!” He had made the risky choice to curl the ends of Krieger’s mustache upward.

_ “Es ist wunderbar!” _

Ray’s nervous expression softened. Krieger was flattered; Ray actually cared about his opinion.

“We’ll get you some more fashionable glasses soon. But for now, I think you are ready for the next step.”

Ray led Krieger to the closet. Krieger’s heart stopped. On the floor, just inside the door, was an inch of black splatter, like someone had cleaned a mess in the main bedroom, not realizing it  bled through under the doorway. The doctor felt a block of ice slip into his stomach. He’d convinced himself he’d imagined this…

“These are your things, here,” said Ray, pointing to a portable rack. It was then that Krieger actually took in his surroundings.

The closet was nearly as big as the bedroom itself. In the center was an elevated podium, before which stood a grand, gold-framed mirror. Krieger didn’t know it at the time, but it was backed with aluminum. Beside the mirror was a little stool, and a shelf of makeup products.

The rest of the room was a mishmash of color and texture, little chests of earrings and bracelets, and racks upon racks of shoes. Ray had moved the Japanese screen in here for their dress-up. On a little side table was a plate of brownies, a bottle of white wine, and two glasses. Krieger’s stomach was churning. He didn’t want a brownie.

At Ray’s instruction, Krieger went behind the screen and tried on the first outfit: High-waisted brown plaid pants, cream colored belt and sweater vest, a tan jacket, white shirt, and green tie. He stood upon the platform and peered into the mirror. One thing Ray couldn’t change about him was his eyes. He stared into them, trying to ignore his surroundings, but Ray wouldn’t allow it; he insisted on pushing a glass of wine into Krieger’s hand, insisted he took a sip. Was this how the other man died? Had all the guests perished in such a gory manner?

Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder. 

_ “Docteur!” _

_ “Was?!” _

“You look like a phantom! Are you alright?! Has it been that long since you received new clothes?”

“No, I...I...I had a suit just like this, back in Germany.” A lie.

“Oh. I didn’t realize…”

“Yes, it...It was my father’s, I was wearing it when I was arrested.”

Ray stared at Krieger, horrified.  _ Alright, so not  _ totally  _ heartless… _

“May I be truthful with you, Ray?”

“Always,  _ mon caneton, _ sit down.” He held Krieger’s hand, guiding him as they sat on the platform. He didn’t release Krieger’s hand when they’d settled.

As briefly as possible, Krieger described how he’d disguised himself as a gentile and made his way up the government’s ladder, into the top rungs of military bioengineering. He didn’t say what his job was, or what the experiments were, only that there were indeed experiments, that he not only authorized, but conceived and (quite literally) executed.

After setting this scene, Krieger sighed and decided to just speak before he could change his mind.

“I killed them.”

“What?”

“The Nazi soldiers. The experiments, meant to enhance their abilities, I botched them on purpose. I gave them a lethal shot and killed them all.”

“How many?”

“Too many to count.” He put his head in his hands, pretending to mourn. “The lives lost…”

“It’s what they deserved.”

Just as he suspected. “Oh?”   
_ “Mon caneton, _ they were evil. One of those soldiers could have been the difference between victory and defeat. If they did not want to be eliminated, they should not have become Nazis!”

“That’s what they said about Jews.”

Ray glared. “Surely you’re not serious. Jews exist because it is a religion, they worship a God, they have for thousands of years. Jews exist because of faith. Nazis exist -  _ existed -  _ as a result of hatred. A reaction to another group.”

“Ah.”

“It’s like saying, ‘If one does not want to be chopped down, he should not become a tree!’ And then acting as though the lumberjack and the forest have existed equally all this time. No, one was here first, and the other exists solely due to the other! Forests will always exist without lumberjacks, but the other way around…?” Suddenly aware that he was rambling, he said, “You did the right thing. They deserved it.”

“Would you ever kill someone - ?”

_ “Oui.” _

“...I was going to say,  _ ‘if he deserved it?’” _

_ “Oui.” _

_ “Have _ you killed someone?”

_ “Oui.” _

“Did he deserve it?”

_ “Oui, mon jouet,  _ every last one of them deserved it.”

“Do...Do I deserve it?”

_ “Non! Jamais, mon cher,  _ and I wouldn’t have the heart to kill you, even if you did!”

“When was the last time you killed someone?”

Ray raised his eyebrows. Before that question, he thought Krieger had been looking for a common soul, a war-torn heart in need of healing, just like his own. Now, he realized, the man had suspicions.

“I don’t recall. And you,  _ docteur?” _

“Would you kill a man tomorrow, if you came across one who deserved it?”

“I cannot speak for the me of tomorrow. But today? The answer, of course, is yes.” He wrapped his arm around Krieger’s waist. “But not you,  _ mon jouet, _ never you.”

“What if I do something to deserve it? Theoretically?” Less of a theory, more of a prediction.

“You sound like you  _ want _ me to kill you. Unfortunately, I have grown rather attached, not to mention our unfinished business.”

“The clothes?”

“Eh,” he shrugged. “Mainly, the wine.”

Despite himself, Krieger relaxed, downing endless glasses of the spirit as he and his host giggled and chatted and fawned over the wardrobe.

Krieger was in awe of his new clothes, but even more so, how well they suited him. There were a few day suits, but other outfits, too, like slacks and sweaters, embroidered vests, ties with geometric patterns, and, as promised, a pair of plus-fours that Krieger was sure he’d never wear. There was one formal suit, a rather risky, yellow plaid number with a green tie. On the hanger, Krieger cringed, but once he put it on, he was shocked at how great he looked. 

“Why did we let the twenties end?” wondered Ray aloud, straightening the double-breasted vest.

“We didn’t. Time did.”

“Oh, you scientists,” reprimanded Ray.

“Hey, the twenties are guaranteed a comeback.”

“You really think so?”

“I know so. I mean, we’ll be dead by two-thousand-and-twenty, but at least we’ll die knowing it’ll happen.”

Ray smirked. “I’ll still be alive, I think.”

“Just very, very old?”

“Exactly.” 

Krieger watched Ray pour another glass of wine. Or, more specifically, watched the hem of his robe rise as he tilted the bottle. He cursed himself for not peeking on the stairs that morning.

“So, tell me more about your summer in Berlin.”

_ “Ooo, _ the way you say it with your accent!”

“What,  _ Berlin?” _

“Oh, you tickle me!”

Smirking, Krieger snatched the wine glass from Ray, set it aside, and grabbed Ray by the torso, tickling him mercilessly.

Ray laughed raucously. It was an uncouth, bulky, loud laugh, with nothing graceful or sly about it. He was slapping Krieger’s arms away, to no avail. He did manage to escape the doctor’s grip long enough to turn around, but Krieger merely grabbed him by the hips and pulled him back in.

And just like that, Krieger was breathing hot in Ray’s ear, firmly holding Ray’s ass to his crotch, suddenly forgetting about tickling. Ray turned his head to face Krieger, exhaling wine-perfumed breaths onto his lips. Without changing his neutral expression, he pressed his ass even further into Krieger and said, “You’re going to stain you new suit,  _ mon jouet.” _

“If you’re gonna keep calling me that, we’re gonna have to play more than dress-up.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Tell me a story,” he growled, “From your time in Berlin.”

“Let me think of one...In the meantime, change out of that suit!”

He released one last sigh into Ray’s ear before retreating behind the screen. He took a few deep breaths, and before he’d even begun to undress, Ray spoke.

“I have one that I think you would appreciate.” 

_ “Ja?” _

“This was at the beginning of the summer. I don’t know when you last went to a barber, but they had just released this...This large device, the barber is meant to strap it to his hand, you see, and the device shakes violently.”

“That’s odd…”

“Yes, but the shaking causes the  _ réverbération. _ They were to give scalp massages, you understand?”

“That’s genius,” said Krieger, already seeing the implications and jealous he hadn’t thought of such a device himself. He hung his tie and jacket over the side of the screen and began working on his vest. There were a lot of buttons.

“Yes, we all thought so. You see, I had a friend who had one. But he was not a barber. And, come to think of it, we were more than friends.” The source of his voice kept changing position. Krieger realized he must be moving around the room as he spoke.

“He - yes,  _ he _ , I hope that doesn’t surprise you?”

“Ha!”

“He tied me up in such a way that I was bent over his kitchen table, unable to stand, or move my arms at all. He plugged in the device and massaged me for awhile, and then began to tease me.” The sound of a drawer opening and being rummaged through. “But before entering my...What’s the German word,  _ docteur?” _

The goddamn tie wouldn’t come off. “For a pretty thing like you?  _ Muschi.” _

“Alright, then. Before entering my  _ Muschi, _ he asked me to tell him a secret. So I did, and he slipped a finger in me - vibrating, as you remember.”

So many buttons. Why did his hands keep slipping?

“But he did not continue. When I asked for another, he said I’d get it when he got another secret. Of course, it was hard to think of any, harder still as he filled me more. Not to mention, he was a lot like you; he wanted to hear my dirty secrets, the juicy ones, nothing so trivial as cheating on a test as a schoolboy. It wasn’t until I admitted to murder that I finally got his  _ Schwanz.” _

Finally, he slipped the trousers off, hastily tossing them over the side of the screen. Just then, Ray walked past the edge of the screen, and they were face to face.

“He also liked to play dress-up. I was wearing something like this, at the time,” Ray said. His tone made it seem like he was referring to a particular style of jacket, when in reality, he stood before Krieger in thigh-high striped stockings, black, round-toed kitten heels, and absolutely nothing else. He was half hard already.  _ L’anticipation. _

_ “Gott im Himmel.” _

Ray couldn’t contain a shiver at Krieger’s husky voice. He pointed to Krieger’s tented shorts and said,  _ “Vilain garçon!” _

_ “So sehe ich Dich gerne.” _

“Then you’ll appreciate this angle even more.” He turned and bent over before Krieger.

Never in his life had Krieger felt such uncontrollable compulsions, but, in his German way, he repressed them. The sight of Ray’s hole, taut and pink, was too much to bear. He silently prayed that this wouldn’t be another exercise in sexual discipline.

“May I touch you?”

“Of course,  _ mon jouet.” _

So many possibilities. Krieger knelt behind Ray and spread his ass apart. 

“What are your...limits?”

“None.”

“Did you clean up?” 

“Of course. I'm ready for anything,  _ docteur.” _

Krieger licked his thumb and circled Ray's tight opening. Ray flexed his muscles, pushing his hole out. After a minute, Ray spoke up.

“You hesitate?”

“I...I think I'd like to kiss you first.”

“Have you ever kissed a French man before?”

“Not yet.”

Ray stood up straight (Krieger took a moment to admire his posture, and the broadness of his shoulders) and turned. He stopped Krieger from rising and put a gentle hand on his face, brushing his cheekbones with his thumb, just like he had on their first night together.

_ “Joli petit jouet.” _

He slipped his thumb into Krieger's mouth and dragged his lip down. He rubbed its slick surface, admiring the rich pink color. Jealousy was definitely a factor here; his own lips were rather pale.

“Open your mouth.”

Krieger obeyed. Ray leaned down, pursed his lips, and let a string of spit drip into Krieger's mouth. To his delight, Krieger swallowed it and, of his own volition, opened his mouth for more. 

“You're eager.”

“You taste like wine.”

Ray grinned and gave Krieger a little slap. “Shall we move to the bed?”

“Please.”

Krieger couldn't take his eyes off Ray, trailing behind him and staring unashamedly at his ass.

As quickly as he could, Ray threw back the heavy layers of duvet and sheets, as well as the fancy decorative pillows. When he finished, he indicated for Krieger to go first. 

Krieger obeyed nervously, not really sure how to position himself. Luckily, Ray provided some guidance.

“Lay down for me.”

Once he was laying flat, Ray climbed on top of him, straddling his hips. There was already a wet spot forming on his shorts, and Ray's ass against him didn't help. Nor did Ray's fingers snaking along his chest, cupping the sides of his neck, gently stroking his hairline.

“Kiss me,” said Krieger. 

Ray did just that. It was wet and hot and everything Krieger dreamt of. Suddenly, he remembered his arms were not, in fact, paralyzed: He reached up and stroked gentle circles on Ray's back, encouraged by the little hum he received. Krieger lowered his hands down to Ray's ass and gave a tiny squeeze. 

“Don't hold back for my benefit,” said Ray. 

Krieger separated from the kiss and rolled them over so he was on top. They kissed with more urgency, then, and a few minutes later, Krieger broke them apart again. 

“I want to taste your ass,” he growled. 

Still grinning widely, Ray rolled over and propped his ass up with his knees. Krieger spat on his hole and ate him out vigorously. The careful sculpting of his beard and mustache was obliterated, but neither man cared. Krieger shallowly fingered Ray with his thumb so he could get deeper access. 

When Krieger's tongue entered him, Ray said,  _ “Mon Dieu _ , I love Germans!”

Krieger reached down and cupped Ray's balls, which were meticulously groomed just like the rest of him. Using his thumb, Krieger rubbed the head of Ray's cock, already dripping.

“Feels good, doesn't it,  _ Liebe?” _

_ “Oui!” _

“You want my cock?”

_ “Oui, _ give it to me.”

_ “Ich möchte hören, wie Du darum bettelst.” _

“I'm not thinking clearly,  _ mon jouet, _ remind me…?”

“Let me hear you beg for it.”

_ “S'il vous plait, docteur,  _ fuck me!”

Krieger grabbed Ray's shoulder and turned him over. Ray instructed him where to find lubricant and condoms, and after applying them as necessary, Krieger pulled down his shorts just enough to push the head of his penis into Ray. 

“How's that feel?” Krieger growled.

“Very good, but I'd like some more.” 

The doctor chuckled. “Your voice is trembling,  _ Liebe.  _ Surely you aren't holding back?”

“Maybe.”

Another inch. “Why?”

“I…” He whined as Krieger pushed forward a bit more. 

Krieger took hold of Ray's ankles, rested them on his shoulders, and thrust the whole length of his cock into Ray. Still, Ray merely whimpered, and clawed at the sheets. 

“I'm going to do whatever it takes to get a scream out of you.” He began fucking Ray steadily, and leaned down to pinch his nipples. Ray's whines and whimpers were driving Krieger crazy: high-pitched, desperate, animalistic sounds.

_ “Weiter!” _ Ray cried. “Is - is that correct?”

_ “Ja, Liebe. _ ” He complied, fucking Ray harder.

Krieger got the scream eventually. He leaned down to kiss Ray, not realizing the new angle had him striking Ray's prostate dead-on. Ray's French rambling was interrupted when Krieger licked the length of his neck. Ray moaned loudly, and when Krieger began sucking on the tender flesh, he screamed.

Krieger felt moisture soak through his undershirt and realized Ray had just cum. He pulled away and stared, shocked.

“Um…”

Ray had a dreamy look on his face. 

“Move,  _ mon cher, _ it's not over!”

Krieger gave him a few gentle thrusts, watching Ray shiver and hiss as he rode out the last waves. 

“I'm sorry,” said Ray, “For finishing so early, but my neck is...extremely sensitive.”

“Evidently.”

“You're not upset with me, I hope…?”

“Not at all.” He'd been startled out of his erection, but Ray had a solution. 

“Change your condom, and I'll finish you off,  _ mon jouet.”  _ He lowered himself, gripped Krieger's thighs, and breathed deeply. “You smell incredible.”

“It's the cologne.”

“It's the sweat.”

It didn't take long for Ray to undo Krieger. He was a master of blowjobs, skillfully taking Krieger's cock and fucking his own throat, massaging his balls as he worked. 

Krieger didn't get a moment to breathe before Ray climbed up face-to-face and kissed him tenderly. 

“You'll spend the night, won't you, Aaron?”

“Of course.” He closed his eyes. He hadn't been this comfortable and happy in a long time.

“Join me in the shower.” When Krieger didn't move, he slapped his belly. “Come,  _ mon cher, _ that shirt will be a horror to peel off! Besides, I've waited so patiently to get a real look at you.”

Krieger followed Ray into the bathroom, falling behind a bit because of his shaky legs. 

While they waited for the water to heat up, Ray circled his new lover, carefully examining his appearance. Finally, he reached out and pinched one of Krieger's love handles.

Ray nodded. “I think this will work quite nicely.”

Krieger smiled sheepishly. 

In the shower, they made out some more, haphazardly smearing scented soap on each other's bodies until they ran out of hot water. 

They slipped under the covers together (still naked, with the brownies Ray retrieved from the closet) and continued kissing, touching, and talking for hours. 

All thoughts of pennies had been long forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I tag this as slowburn and put porn in ch2? Yes, yes I did.


	3. A Trip to Dreamland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting juicy! Leave a review or send an ask on tumblr (@agent-randy) if you enjoy this fic.

The next morning, Krieger was roused by a gentle nudge.

_ “Mon cher.” _

_ “Was?” _

“Are you hungry?”

Krieger pulled the blanket over his head. “Five more minutes.”

When Ray started to deny the request, Krieger felt around blindly beneath the covers. He gripped Ray's cock firmly. 

“What's this?” he teased, sloppily fondling Ray's balls. 

“Not very convincing - you don't even have lotion.”

“Not necessary.” He captured the head of Ray's dick in his mouth and flicked it with his tongue. 

One messy-but-worthwhile blowjob later, Ray led Krieger (adorned in the robe he received on his first night) downstairs. Instead of the dining room, they walked through the kitchen and into a small nook Krieger had never seen before. 

There was a round kitchen table, covered by a checkered tablecloth, with several chairs on one side, and a curved, cushioned bench on the other. Cheryl and Poovey were already seated and eating when they entered.

“This is where we’ll have meals from now on,” said Ray, “Except on special occasions, of course.”

“Why?”

“You are no longer a guest.” 

“You finally screwed, then?” said Cheryl.

Ray smirked as he took his seat. “I'm surprised you didn't hear us.”

“Your room is, like, soundproof.”

“It was  _ very _ loud.”

Krieger was blushing. “Can I ask a question?”

_ “Oui.” _

“How did you all...find each other? I have a very hard time meeting, ah...like-minded people.”

“Dreamland,  _ mon cher.” _

“Huh?”

“The nightclub. I own it, partially, though I handle more of the image and design than the fiscal aspects. The regulars are a very...specific crowd.”

“Oh?”

“People like us.”

“Wow.”

“You have no friends of our persuasion?”

“No. I don't really have friends in general, especially not homosexuals. Though, my brother was - ” He felt like someone had physically zipped his lips.

“What?”

“My...My brother liked men very much. He even went steady with a man for a year or two, and they lived in the apartment upstairs from me.” He was smiling fondly at the memory. “It wasn't ideal for the guy, of course, having his babydoll's big brother right downstairs. I could hear everything! But it's not like they could move, the ghettos were absolutely packed. Of course, I wasn't home much, and besides, we were all just happy he moved out of our parents’ house at all. He was always a little…” He looked up and realized Poovey and Cheryl had gone, and Ray was staring at him with intense concentration.

“A little what,  _ caneton?” _

“Sick in the head.”

“He was dangerous?”

“No, he just...He didn't speak until he was about six, and once he began, he never stopped. But if there were people talking around him, or loud music, he'd go a little nuts, even as an adult. His man really knew how to handle him, because they were similar, y'know…”

“Why does this make you sad? He still lives in Germany?”

“I don't know. After the war…”

Ray wrapped an arm around Krieger. “Oh,  _ mon caneton _ . _ ” _

“I'm fine.”

_ “I’m  _ not. What a horrible story.”

Krieger laughed humorlessly. “It gets worse.”

“Oh?”

“I have  _ three _ brothers. And two parents. Or, I did? Maybe I still do, I don't know what happened to any of them. And they can't find me because I completely reinvented myself in order to get access to those...experiments.”

“We will find them.”

Krieger scoffed.

“Aaron. I have endless resources, endless means. We will find them.”

“What we lack is endless  _ time.” _

Ray didn't respond, but began eating with a contemplative look.

It was then that Krieger noticed Ray's plate was piled high. That was unusual; he was a light eater, except when it came to decadent desserts. 

“You work up an appetite last night?”

Ray blushed, filling Krieger with pride. “You could say that.”

“I should call in sick to work today.”

“It's no use,  _ mon cher, _ I have things to do.”

Krieger pouted. 

“I don't want you moping...Why don't you take one of my cars to work tonight, as a treat.”

“You have cars?”

 

Once Krieger was dressed for work, Ray led him out to the garage. Two long, shining vehicles were parked inside. 

“The Mercedes Benz in black, or the Bentley in red. Take your pick.”

“Holy shit. I've been driving the pickup  _ why?” _

“These are privileges I don't give to guests, of course. But now that we are lovers…”

“I...I gotta go with the Bentley.”

Ray handed him the key. “Be careful,  _ mon jouet, _ she was a gift!”

Krieger arrived to work at eight thirty in the evening, just as his rival was leaving.

“Headed home so soon?” Krieger asked, stepping out of the vehicle.

The other man simply surveyed the car, as well as Krieger himself (dressed sharply in one of his new suits).

“'Night,” he said.

Krieger's chest swelled with triumph. He hated that guy.

 

When Krieger arrived home, he fully expected another evening of ravishing animal sex. After all, he had no reason not to, especially considering the kiss goodbye Ray had given him: he leaned into the window of the car, held Krieger close by the neck, and gave him the Frenchest kiss he could muster.

Ray was descending the stairs when Krieger walked in. 

“Home so soon! I thought you'd want to go for a ride?”

“Damn right I do,” he said, pulling Ray in close. He leaned in for a kiss but Ray leaned away, pulling his chic, knee length black sweater securely over his chest. 

“Everything alright?” asked Krieger. He wanted Ray to take his turban off; he had the most gorgeous hair. 

_ “Oui, oui,  _ I am just in the middle of something. I don't mean to be rude. I have a business associate upstairs,  _ mon cher, _ in the library, and I don't want to answer his questions about our...situation. You understand?”

“I mean, your appearance is probable cause.”

Ray rolled his eyes. “Go for a ride.”

“Can I change clothes first?”

“Quickly.”

Krieger headed to his room and washed up. He was planning on wearing one of his new outfits - slacks and a lovely, thick sweater he really liked - but realize he'd left the matching tie in Ray's room. At first, he was disappointed, but then he wondered...Surely Ray wouldn't mind if he slipped in to get his tie. Into the closet, and right back out again. So simple. After all, he was no longer a guest, and on his first day Ray said that anywhere he wasn't permitted to go would be locked, anyway.

So, he tiptoed into the hall and took hold of Ray's doorknob. It opened without resistance. 

There was no one in the room - no source of it all - but the floor was covered in blood. Its glistening surface reached all corners, all crevices of the room. This must be a whole person's worth of blood. 

He turned when he heard movement on the stairs, but other than that, he was frozen. 

Ray met his eyes and stopped in his tracks. In his hands were a sponge and a crystal bottle.

Suddenly, Krieger was thrown by an invisible force, flying through the air and landing on Ray's bed. He tried to move, but couldn't, and couldn't scream either; it was like an invisible foot was compressing his windpipe. He recalled the feeling from his last days in Germany. 

Wading through the huge puddle, Ray climbed onto the bed on top of Krieger. He saw, now that Ray had let the sweater fall away from his chest, his torso was stained red.

“Why were you in here?”

His throat was released. “I...I just wanted my tie.”

Ray hummed. “I had hoped to keep you a little longer before dealing with...this.” He gestured toward the puddle as if it was a simple mess, a laundry basket of dirty clothes. 

“Who was it?”

“The better question is, who am  _ I?” _

“Who...Who are you?”

Ray grinned, really grinned, teeth and all, for the first time. A pang of guilt struck Krieger in the gut as he thought,  _ He's so pretty.  _

Ray took one of Krieger's hands and guided it toward his mouth. He ran Krieger's fingers along his teeth. Nothing interesting, until the soft pad of his pointer finger was pierced by something. 

“You bit me!” he cried, trying to jerk his hand away. 

_ “Non.  _ Look closer!” He pulled back his lip to reveal long, sharp fangs, one on each side of his mouth. 

“Oh, God.”

“I know you're a man of science,  _ docteur _ , but allow me to convince you.” He got up, but Krieger still couldn't move until he snapped his fingers, releasing the invisible binds. “Follow me, and remember, if you try to run…” He pointed at Krieger, freezing him in the middle of rising. “...I have ways of intercepting you.”

Trembling, Krieger followed Ray to his room. 

“The mirrors in my own chambers are rather unusual,” said Ray, “Backed with aluminum. Not silver, like the rest of the mirrors in this house.”

Krieger followed Ray to his room, then into Krieger's bathroom. Indeed, when he peered into the looking glass, Krieger saw only his own face, beside what appeared to be a floating sweater and turban. 

_ “Mon cher, _ I've already told you that I've grown attached. You are free to stay or go, though I must discourage you from going to the police; the captain is a close personal friend, you see, and I can't guarantee your safety from him.”

“What about the chief?”

“ _ Monsieur Ponder?  _ He is like me.”

“Who was he? The man you killed?”

“A repeat offender, as they say. He had some unsavory comments about my lounge singer - a Black woman - somehow lewd and prejudiced all at once. He'd done it once before, in my presence alone, so I decided to put a stop to it.”

“How'd you get him back here?”

“I pretended to agree, invited him here for some wine, and now he is history. History no one remembers.”

Krieger sighed through his nose, still glancing between Ray and the empty mirror. 

“I had high hopes for you,  _ mon cher _ .”

Krieger stepped back.

“Calm down, you're safe from me.” He approached Krieger, and cupped the doctor's face in his hands. “I had hoped to keep you around for a bit longer, give you little clues, and when you figured it out, I'd tell you the truth.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I was suspicious.”

Ray chuckled. “I don't suppose I could convince you to stay…?”

“You don't need to convince me. In fact, I…”

“Yes,  _ mon cher?” _

“I don't think I've ever been so attracted to you.”

“Oh?”

“Can I…?” he started to ask permission, but he was already leaning in, so Ray closed the gap.

They kissed intensely for a moment before Krieger broke it.

“Fuck,” he grunted.

“What's wrong?”

“You taste like...metal.”

“That's blood. I'm sorry, should I wash - ?”

“I like it.” He smacked his lips.  _ “Fuck, _ I shouldn't like that!”

With a wild look in his eyes, Krieger pulled Ray in and kissed him hard. Judging by his technique, he was on a mission to taste every inch of Ray's mouth. Very aware of where this was going, Ray muttered into his lips, “Should I go get the lube?”

Krieger responded by picking him up, relishing the dry blood smudging from Ray's cool skin and onto his shirt. 

“Oh,  _ mon cher!” _

“I wanna fuck in your bathroom. That way I can watch your reflection.”

They did just that. Krieger carried his companion to the other room, splashing through the sea of blood once again (“Such a waste,” Ray sighed), and bent Ray over the counter. 

“There's no need for a condom; if you had any disease, I would smell it.”

“And I'm just supposed to assume  _ you're _ perfectly healthy?”

“You swallowed my cum this morning,  _ docteur. _ If I were sick, you'd have it, anyway.”

Krieger, who was preparing Ray for entrance with one hand and lubing up his dick with the other, said, “Oh, yeah, how do you give such a good blowjob with those teeth?”

Ray bared his fangs. “They're far apart. Although  _ ta pine _ scared me for a moment, I thought it might be too thick. Luckily, it fit perfectly.”

Krieger rested the head of his  _ pine  _ against Ray's hole. “Surely you don't mean it's thin?!” he said, feigning offense.

_ “Non! _ The opposite,  _ mon jouet, _ I - ” Krieger entered him just then. Ray uttered a strained cry.

Krieger watched Ray's face carefully as he slowly added inch after inch, and began fucking him at a rough pace. Ray was louder this time than he had been last night - Krieger realized, as he watched them glint, that he’d restrained his cries in order to avoid opening his mouth so he wouldn't expose his fangs.

_ “Weiter,” _ Ray said in his awful German. 

Krieger tightened his grip and went a little harder, but Ray grunted in frustration. 

“You tease me,” he said. He shook himself free from Krieger's grip and repositioned himself: one leg on the counter, back arched, hands upon the mirror. “Fuck me.”

“You're a little bit of a slut.”

“I know what I like. Is that a crime?”

“Hell, no. That was a compliment.” He found a solid way to grip Ray - one hand on his hip, the other on his shoulder - and began fucking him again.

This time, Ray threw his head back, crying out. This bolstered Krieger's confidence, so he increased his speed. Where Krieger grunted curses, praise, and teasing questions (“Do you like that?”), Ray tended to scream, discarding language altogether.

The sweatier they became, the more difficult it was to hold on. Krieger moved his hand from Ray's shoulder to his neck, forgetting how sensitive it was. 

Ray came hard, all over the gorgeous mirror. Krieger continued ruthlessly fucking him, goaded on by the jittery shivers running up Ray’s spine. He leaned into Ray's ear and whispered, “Look how pretty you are.”

Krieger's climax followed only a minute later, leaving them both sweaty, panting messes. Krieger pulled out slowly, and watched the cum drip from Ray's hole. Ray turned around and pulled him into another sloppy kiss. 

Finally, he sighed and said, “Go fetch Cheryl.”

“For what?”

“The blood won't clean itself. Ordinarily, I would take care of it, but now I'm tired and have  _ this _ to deal with.”

Krieger started to kiss Ray, but Ray slapped him away.

“How many times must I remind you of my neck!” 

Krieger hadn't even realized his hand drifted there. “Sorry. What's up with that, though?”

Ray turned his head to the side, exposing the sensitive skin. “I was bitten there.”

The doctor leaned in and looked closely. Sure enough, two tiny pinpricks interrupted the marble tone of Ray's flesh. 

“They're sensitive?”

“Extremely.”

“So if I were to, say…” Once again, he was already leaning in, and Ray didn't stop him. 

Krieger pressed his mouth to the bitemarks. Between the bristles of his beard and the heat of his breath, it took only a few flicks of his tongue to undo Ray again.

Ray leaned heavily against Krieger. “You spoil me.” His voice was rather higher than usual.

“It's my pleasure.”

 

Ray pierced a piece of chicken and swirled it in red sauce. He'd been fielding Krieger's questions, and it was beginning to grow tiresome. 

“So that's why you stay up all night?”

_ “Oui.” _

“And you  _ did _ have guests up there? Victims, I mean?”

_ “Oui.” _

“So through the soundproofing: screams?”

_ “Oui.” _

“So...What was the end of your plan?”

_ “Oui - _ Wait, what was that?”

“Your plan. You said you were going to plant clues, let me figure out what you were…and then what?”

“I hoped to…Perhaps, if I could convince you…”

“Turn me into one of you?”

_ “Oui.  _ But now you've found out so soon, and I'd hate for you to - ”

“I want to.”

“Hm?”

“I want to be like you.”

Ray set down his fork and knife. He contemplated this for a bit, and finally said, “That can be arranged.”

“Really?”

_ “Oui, _ but before we even consider it, we follow my original plan.”

“Which was?”

“Don't ask me to turn you again for a month. At least.”

“A month?!”

“Our relationship is in its infancy,  _ mon cher.  _ In a month, we can take the next step.”

“The next step being my turning?”

_ “Non. _ Just trust me. One month, and I don't want to hear a thing about it before then.”

 

“You look gorgeous!”

“I  _ feel _ gorgeous.”

“Oh,  _ mon cher... _ Perhaps we’ll stay home after all…”

Krieger smirked. It had been a couple of weeks since he discovered Ray’s secret, but things stayed normal. Ray didn’t allow him any more access than before: he saw no more blood, never met the victims, certainly didn’t witness a murder. Not for lack of trying, that is.

Now, Ray was finally allowing Krieger to take a baby step forward. They woke up early, had a light breakfast, and by nine o’clock, they were on their way to Dreamland.

They were both gorgeous, of course. Krieger was wearing a high-waisted, loose fitting suit. The slacks, jacket, and shirt were black, but his vest was purple. Ray provided him with leather shoes for the occasion. Upon receiving them, Krieger turned them over and over in his hands. The shoes were soft, rich in color, and had the same smooth shine as a tumbled stone.

Ray himself looked strange. He was wearing a simple black suit, and Krieger couldn’t place why he looked so off, until he realized, this was the first time he’d seen Ray in men’s clothes. Luckily, however, he offset the masculinity with his usual rouge and natural lipstick, and his choice of outerwear: A thin, black cape and huge, wide-brimmed hat.

Upon being called gorgeous, Krieger smirked and leaned in for a kiss. Ray, however, shoved him away.

_ “Non! _ My makeup!”

He rolled his eyes, but held out his arm for his lover. Smirking, Ray took it, and together, they strode outside and headed for the club. Krieger drove the Mercedes, feeling pleasantly conspicuous on the road. Ray watched him closely; it was clear the doctor hadn't had many nice things in his life. The clothes, food, and cars were partially for Ray's own benefit (seeing Krieger's joy was endlessly heartwarming) and partially a test. Should he become too absorbed in material things and lose his modesty, Ray would certainly not turn him.

In front of the door, Ray went over Krieger, straightening his collar, tightening his tie, and curling the mustache at the last second. He thought for a moment, then removed Krieger’s glasses, pocketing them.

“Am I presentable?”

“I wouldn't present you if you weren't.”

He took Krieger's arm, turned on a pretty smile, and allowed Krieger to open the door for him.

Instantly, the sounds of the road and city disappeared in favor of a low jazz tune. The lights were dim, except the spotlight shining on the band. The place wasn't packed, but it was certainly steady, especially for nine o'clock. From the bar, a woman waved enthusiastically. 

Ray dragged Krieger (who was still looking around, taking in these incredibly American surroundings) over to her, and separated their arms to hug her.

_ “Mon amie!” _

“So,” she said, leaning back in her seat, “This is the…?”

Ray grabbed Krieger once again, thrusting him forward. 

_ “Oui, _ get a look!  _ Mon cher,  _ this is Lana, my first love. Lana, meet  _ Docteur  _ Aaron Krieger.” Krieger wondered why he didn't get a description.

She did, indeed, look him up and down over the rim of her glass. She gave one word of feedback.

“Beardy.”

Ray snapped his fingers for the bartender, and to Krieger's surprise, began talking to the woman in rapid French. He didn't leave her much room to respond, but she nodded along, comprehending. Krieger felt a flash of jealousy in the pit of his stomach, but quickly repressed it; he so desperately wanted to have a good time.

The bartender sauntered over, ignoring both Lana and Ray, going right for Krieger.

“You're Ray's new...thing?”

“There was an old one?”

The bartender smiled. “One or two. They're still hanging around somewhere, I'll bet. I mean, not here, obviously, but, y'know. On Earth.”

Krieger smiled back.

“So, what can I get you?”

Ray looked up and said, “My usual,  _ Monsieur?” _

“Yeah, yeah.” He didn't look away from Krieger to acknowledge Ray. 

“A martini, I think.”

“Vodka or gin?”

“Gin.”

“Well or Blackwood's?”

“Well.”

“Remember, you own the bar.”

Not quite true, but Krieger smirked anyway, shoving through a couple of people to nestle himself between Ray and another customer so they could talk more comfortably. “Then, I guess it's gotta be Blackwood's.”

The bartender leaned forward. “Dirty?”

“No. Dry, though.”

Still smirking, the bartender turned away and began mixing.

“What's your name, by the way?” Krieger called. The gentleman he'd been wedged against had gone, allowing him to sit down at the stool. He absentmindedly rested a hand on Ray's thigh.

“Archer. I assume  _ you _ go by Mrs. Gillette?”

Ray turned when he heard this. “Eh?”

“Not you.”

He turned back around.

Krieger accepted the martini. 

“Damn, that was fast.” So fast it barely counted. “I'm Aaron.”

“I don't like that. Gimme a full name.”

“Doctor Aaron Krieger.”

“Yeah, see, lots to work with there! Gimme a minute.” He wandered off, mixing and building and shaking drinks for other customers. 

Krieger turned to Ray, who had his back to him. He couldn't see anything past that huge hat. Krieger reached around and patted Ray's knee, then his thigh, and over the course of several minutes, moved steadily upward. He was openly pawing Ray's crotch by the time he turned around and faced him. 

Ray was smiling. “So fiesty after one martini?”

“I'm, like...mid-martini.”

“You can't hold your liquor?”

“What makes you think I'm impaired? Maybe I'm just...outrageous.” He reached up and pretended to pick some lint from Ray's collar. In reality, he'd ever-so-lightly pinched the tender flesh there.

His lover jumped a mile high, pointed a warning finger at him, crossed his legs, and turned again.

Krieger had just received his second martini when Lana stood; it was time for her set. 

“Nice meeting you,” she said. He raised his glass.

“I think she likes you,” said Ray, sipping his own beverage.

“What're you drinking?”

“Vodka soda, with the, uh…” He swirled the glass, trying to remember.

Archer came up behind them with a ramekin of cherries. “Maraschino?”

_ “Oui! _ Vodka tonic with the Maraschino cherry's juice. Thank you,  _ Monsieur!” _ He accepted the ramekin, and began eating the cherries. Krieger watched carefully. Sure enough, a glimpse of his sharp teeth as he bit the fruit from its stem. He shifted in his seat; being in public like this, knowing Ray's secret,  _ their _ secret…

He had no time to gain composure before Ray pulled him to his feet, leading him toward the small, round tables where they could be private once again. Krieger was grateful for the shield of the tablecloth, especially when Ray leaned in and began relaying the details of his conversation with Lana, who was singing beautifully. The caress of his whispering in his ear was a lot to bear. 

Every now and then, someone would come by and say hello, but the third seat remained unoccupied until 11 o'clock. 

A well-dressed woman with neat makeup and meticulously groomed gray hair sat across from them without asking. 

Krieger was confused for a moment before Ray said, “Ah,  _ Madame  _ Archer.”

_ “Mademoiselle, _ you know damn well,” she said, looking at Krieger. “And you are,  _ Monsieur…?” _

“He is  _ Docteur  _ Aaron Krieger.”

“We're not so great with the titles over here,” Krieger pointed out.

Unamused by Ms. Archer's raucous fake laugh, Ray said, “He's my partner, of sorts.”

Instantly, the mirthful mask fell away. “Oh. Well, anyway…”

They began prattling on about business this and money that, while Krieger zoned out, watching Lana's performance.

She really looked like she couldn't care less. Her eyes were half lidded, in a sultry expression, as she sang low and smooth. The only bright light in the whole room was right on her, drawing the eye and making it very difficult to look away. Occasionally, she swayed her hips to the tune. Krieger leaned forward on his hand. 

“Sit properly,  _ mon cher?”  _ Ray whispered in his ear.

Krieger exhaled through his nose and slowly sat up.

“You don't _ have _ to, darling!”

“Make up your mind.”

Ray blinked. “I can't pretend I know why you're so aggravated, but let me know when you're quite finished.” He turned back to Ms. Archer and resumed their conversation.

Krieger, feeling guilty, stayed sitting properly, intertwining his ankle with Ray's under the table.

When Ms. Archer finally left, Krieger turned to Ray and said, “I'm finished.”

He glanced down. “You still have half a glass.”

“I meant with being aggravated.”

“Ah.”

Krieger looked around. No one was paying attention to them. He leaned into Ray's ear and nipped it.

_ “Mon cher!” _

“Forgive me?”

“I don't want you to feel like my, ah, show horse.”

“Show pony?”

_ “Oui. _ I hate to parade you around like my little tart, but these are my friends and colleagues. I want you to meet them.”

Krieger nodded. “I get stressed under pressure.”

“You're doing beautifully.” He kissed Krieger's cheek and pressed his sweating glass into his hand. “Another drink for me, if you don’t mind.”

“My pleasure; I love tipsy-Ray.”

“Oh?”

“She's so…frisky.”

Ray rolled his eyes. “You get ahead of yourself.”

“Well, does sober-Ray lick my - ”

“Don't say it!”

“ - like it's a popsicle?”

Blushing, Ray shook his head and looked away. 

Krieger set their empty glasses on the bar. Archer instantly began making new ones. The vodka and club soda were poured simultaneously, topped with grenadine, and then he used a spoon to scoop some cherries into Ray's glass. He fished out another scoop and handed the spoon to Krieger.

_ “Dan -  _ Thanks.”

He watched Krieger eat the cherry. “They're good, huh?”

“Fuck, yeah!” he swallowed. “I've never actually had one.”

“Really?” He handed Krieger another.

“Yeah!”

“They have a shelf life of, like, seventeen years. And this is the bottom of the jar, so...”

“So?” He held out his hand for another. He'd had worse fare, especially before the war. And during. And after.

Archer raised an eyebrow. “Go repeat that little fact to Ray and watch _ his _ reaction, pal.”

Krieger obeyed, and to his surprise, the cherry Ray had just popped past his lips flew out onto the tablecloth most indelicately. 

“What's wrong?”

“That's repulsive!” He pushed his drink away.

“But the shelf life is 17 years. So even if they're a decade old, they're still good.”

Ray only glared.

“Wanna trade drinks?”

“Hm, do I want to mix vodka and gin?  _ Non _ , but if you'd like mine, you are most welcome.”

A few minutes later - it must be nearing midnight, now - a fresh-faced, smartly dressed, blonde boy approached them. He greeted Ray with a kiss on each cheek.

_ “Monsieur  _ Ryan _ ,  _ I'm afraid our little adventures have come to an end for the foreseeable future.”

“What for?” he asked, grinning a little further. His dimples were so painfully American.

Ray introduced Krieger, who quickly came to realize these two were lovers, on-and-off.

_ “Monsieur  _ Ryan _ \- ” _

“Oh, won't you call me Jack, I love it when you say my name!”

“ - Reports for the society column. He is like me in every way, by which I mean, ah…”

“I suck blood  _ and - ” _

Ray slapped him good-naturedly, stifling laughter.

“Yowza,” said Krieger.

“Let me get a picture, won't you?”

“Of course!”

Ryan stepped back and poised his camera. Krieger didn't have to ask how a photograph was going to work: Ray had already turned to the side and pulled his huge hat at a jaunty angle over his face. Now, all Krieger had to worry about was his own expression.

“Don't make that face,” said Ryan. “If I were you, I'd go for the, um, brooding-with-a-raised-eyebrow.”

Krieger was frowning already at Ryan's critique, and quite unintentionally raised an eyebrow as he processed the boy's suggestion.

“Perfect!”

A flash, a snap, and their picture was taken.

 

There were many more French phrases and cheek-kisses before Krieger and Ray made it out the door just after two.

None of these formalities were reserved for the younger Archer, who bid Krieger (and only Krieger) farewell with a “‘Night, doc.”

“They loved you,” Ray said, watching Los Angeles fly by through the Mercedes window, “Not that I care.”

“Oh?”

Ray shrugged. “The last thing I want is for you to feel like an accessory. If they all hated you - everything about you - I wouldn't care.”

Krieger felt some relief. He hadn't even realized that's what he was worried about: Being just another beardy arm for Ray to hold onto around town.

“I appreciate that.”

“I hope so.”

 

The next week, Ray showed Krieger their picture in the paper. They made a damn handsome pair, according to the caption, though of course it couldn’t be printed in those exact words. Not in America.

_ R.Q. Gillette (part owner) and friend; a darn handsome pair! _


	4. The Turn

It was exactly a month after their conversation when Ray allowed the next baby step. 

Over breakfast, Ray said, “I’m going hunting this morning.”

Uncharacteristic to say the least. “Hunting? Where? With who?”

_ “Mon cher…” _

“Oh, you mean for people?”

“Just one person, but yes.”

“Can I join you?”

“You have work.”

“I’ll call in.”

“Frankly, you’re not invited. When you get home he’ll be dead already, and I will show you how to clean up.”

Krieger sighed.

“You’re not ready for anything more, yet. Trust me.”

Indeed, Krieger arrived just in time for a janitorial lesson. Ray showed him how to soak up the puddle with a sponge and squeeze it into a bottle. (The day Krieger discovered the secret, Ray had skipped this step in favor of wild copulation, but as he told Krieger now, waste was a sin. The leftover blood could easily extend the time between feedings to a few weeks.) Overall, it was interesting, but nothing revolutionary. 

But then, it was just a baby step.

 

Two weeks later - Ray’s next feeding - he knocked on Krieger’s door.

“It’s time,  _ mon cher. _ If you’re ready.” He didn’t make eye contact - he was covered in blood, from his mustache to his knees.

“I am. I’ve seen a few dead bodies in my time, remember?”

“Not like this,”

“I suppose not.  _ I _ killed most of the others.”

Ray shook his head. “You underestimate the...the brutality.”

“Babydoll.” He took Ray’s hand. “You’re not going to scare me away.”

Ray led him to his room, pausing almost imperceptibly in front of the cherry doors before throwing them open.

It was different. This was the third time Krieger has seen a small lake (but large puddle) of blood in Ray’s room. This time, though, there was a body in the middle of it, still leaking from his jugular. Krieger stepped forward for a closer look.

“What’d he do to deserve it?”

“My friend -  _ Monsieur  _ Figgis, the chief of police, as I’ve mentioned - fed him to me. He’s been taken in three times for mistreating his little wife, always calls from their daughter, but she refused to testify every time.”

He knelt down to examine the wound. The skin was completely shredded from Ray’s fangs. How cute.

“People will suspect her.”

“I don’t think so. They were, by all accounts, a happy couple.”

Krieger looked up at his lover. Ray was rubbing his chin; the blood was drying, making his skin feel too tight.

“Except hers.”

Ray nodded.

“Are you alright?”

Another nod. Krieger held out his arm, and Ray knelt beside him, leaning into his warm body. 

“What’s wrong,  _ Liebe?” _

“Nothing. This happens sometimes, like a bout of depression after some wonderful sex; the act was so thrilling that when you go back to normal, everything seems rather dull.”

“But the act...it’s that good?”

“Oh, you’re going to love it. But - ”

“Before you warn me about the dangers of bloodlust, I want you to remember Germans and their affinity for discipline.”

Ray smiled shyly.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

 

Ray fed several more times - each time, letting Krieger assist in the cleanup and disposal of the body (Ray liked to bury them in the garden. Krieger had other ideas.) - before he felt comfortable including Krieger in a hunt. But finally, halfway through June, Ray couldn’t put it off any longer.

Ray had a lead from one of the guys in the Dreamland band. Some guy had been perusing a Black neighborhood, spitting on doorsteps, obliterating mailboxes, wreaking general havoc. They dressed not only like men, but much poorer men than they actually were. To match this theme, they drove the pickup. 

The guy was conspicuous, and as a result, they found him in no time. It was Krieger’s responsibility to do the talking - “You have a better accent,  _ mon cher,  _ listen to mine - ” “If it’s as bad as your German, I don’t have to.” - and it was, to Krieger’s surprise, only a minute before the man was in the passenger’s seat, and they were headed home for some good bourbon and a jaw session about the flaws of Black America.

‘Home’ was, of course, the manor where they worked as landscapers.

The man did get a glass of bourbon, but had hardly a moment to comment on how shitty it was before he passed out. It was, of course, premium liquor, but the flavor was marred by a cocktail of industrial sedatives a la Dr. Krieger. Together, they dragged the man up to Ray’s room.

“Here’s your moment, Aaron.”

Krieger’s expression was stony and serious. The man was propped up in the bathtub (a luxury Ray usually didn’t have - he preferred killing his victims while they were conscious and trying to escape), with Krieger behind him, poised with a scalpel.

“You need to kill him before the drugs spread throughout his system.”

Krieger had his usual moment of hesitation: the lingering question of whether the man had a wife, children, mother, father, friends, memories, a life of his own. But, he reminded himself, an asshole like this was likely not an ideal husband or father, and if he did have parents, they’d done a terrible job.

It took very little force to sever the man’s jugular.

Instantly, Ray had his mouth pressed to the wound. Judging by the movement of his throat, he was swallowing eagerly. Krieger watched with wide eyes as Ray took his mouth away, panted for a moment, then continued drinking.

A lot of the blood didn’t make it into Ray’s mouth, instead soaking Krieger’s chest and pants with a steady stream.

When Ray’s thirst was quenched, he leaned back and wiped his mouth on the back of his arm. His chest rose and fell heavily from the exhilaration. He looked up at Krieger, who was sitting perfectly still.

_ “Mon cher?” _ This was it, he was sure. Krieger was somewhat of a kindred spirit, with a certain capacity for violence, but now that he’d actually killed, and watched Ray lose control, get messy, drink blood right from a pulsing vein, he was done, Ray was sure of this. 

“Speak to me, Aaron…?”

“It’s too horrible to say out loud.” His voice was so small. He looked frozen.

“Do you need help?”

Krieger protested, but Ray reached forward and rolled the dead body off of him.

“Oh,  _ mon petit jouet…” _ Upon removing the body, Ray had uncovered Krieger’s raging erection.

“I’m just...I’m excited. A lot just happened, I haven’t used a  _ disguise  _ in a long time, I just…” But then he noticed that Ray was smiling. 

“Have I ever judged you,  _ mon petit jouet?” _

Krieger’s mouth curled into a tentative smirk. “Would you stop saying  _ petit?” _

“You’re right.” He reached down and massaged Krieger through his pants. “To the bed?”

“Or…”

Ray’s smile was an evil grin by now. “You really are the man of my dreams,” he said, already stripping.

“Really?”

_ “Oui.” _ He climbed into the tub, straddling Krieger.

“Good. That’s...that’s good.” Ray was working his clothes off, planting bloody little kisses on his cheeks. The adrenaline wasn’t going away, and it wouldn’t until he stopped holding his tongue.

“You’re being strange.”

“Can you blame me?” He moaned when Ray kissed him, filling his mouth with that metallic taste.

“I suppose not.” Blood was smeared across Krieger’s lips.

“I love you.”

Ray paused. “Oh...you’re just excited.”

“I’ve been wanting to say that. You just...loosened my tongue.”

Ray smiled sadly. “It’s not safe for me to love.”

“Babydoll - ”

“Soon. When we take the next step,  _ mon cher,  _ we’ll be safe.”

The phone rang just then, so Ray got up to answer it, giving Krieger a sympathetic look.

Krieger began removing his soaked clothes. He knew the next step, and he was ready for it. Eager, even. The only thing he didn’t care for was _ l’anticipation. _ The doctor had no reservations about killing, or being immortal, or navigating a life of night as day, of secrecy, suspicion, and loneliness.

It was the transition that worried him. There was a strange paranoia that he’d accidentally pick up the strongest man in Los Angeles, or maybe even another vampire. Or, at a key moment, his hands would stop working, or his vision would go black, or his legs would collapse.

This was, of course, ridiculous. Ray would be accompanying him on his hunt, and would therefore smell a vampire a mile away. And Ray could easily take the strongest human man in Los Angeles, even without his incredible levels of strength: he had his magic. (An ability separate from his vampirism, and one that Krieger would not be inheriting.)

Krieger had just rolled the body onto the bathroom floor and begun to run the shower when Ray poked his head into the room.  _ “Mon cher?” _

_ “Ja?” _

“Do you know a man named Ari?”

Krieger thought for a moment, shaking his head. “I mean, I did when I was a little kid. My neighbor. But I couldn’t have been more than nine when I last saw him.”

“Mm...”

“Why do you ask?”

“Jack is on the phone, he said one of his little lovers, named Ari, was looking through his photographs, just  _ blanched  _ at our picture, and left not long after.”

“Maybe he simply doesn’t find us a  _ darn handsome pair.” _

Ray rolled his eyes, unable to conceal his grin. But, he wasn’t really trying.

 

Krieger and Ray were in the breakfast nook one morning (mansion clock, of course). It had been a few weeks since that last feeding.

Ray finished his breakfast (a piece of pie from the evening before) before Krieger was even halfway done. While the other man ate, Ray seized the opportunity to speak uninterrupted.

“Now, remember what I told you about easy targets: They’ll backfire, always. You must hunt with deliberacy.”

Krieger nodded.

“And you remember not to get cocky?”

Another nod.

“Good. In that case, if you’re sure you’re ready…?”

“Of course.” Spoken through a mouthful of egg. Ray shivered at the impropriety.

“I’d like to share some advice about life in general.”

Krieger finally looked up at him, away from his plate.

“I keep a good amount of money liquid, but some is invested. I have no enemies, no significant ones, anyway. My life is uncomplicated, not sinister. It’s even fun.”

“I’m...happy for you?”

“I want you to live your new life smoothly,  _ mon cher. _ There are many others like us, but don’t get involved with their rituals, codes of honor, their cults. Just live simply.”

Krieger gestured around the house. “Simply!”

“You know what I mean! I didn’t kill anyone for this house, I don’t need to fortify it from my enemies. Just mind your business.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He noticed Ray’s anxious expression and held his hand. “Really, I will.”

It was Ray who nodded this time.

 

“Is that him?” Krieger straightened his glasses, positive that he was legally blind at night.

“I can’t help you,  _ mon cher.” _

There was another mailbox smasher roaming the neighborhood. According to the trumpet player, this one was knocking on doors. Not acceptable.

Krieger pulled the pickup to the side of the road and hopped out.

“Hey!”

The baseball bat-wielding racist was apparently not afraid of confrontation. He puffed out his chest and walked toward Krieger.

“I’d be remiss if I didn’t inform you - ”

“Eh?”

“I’d...I’d be an ass if I didn’t warn ya,” he clarified, increasing his American-ness. “I was listening to the police scanner, I think one of these - ” he said a slur, here, cringing internally, “ - called the fuzz on you.”

“Well, what’s it to you?”

He nodded toward the truck. “My buddy and I happen to agree with the sentiment behind your little spree. Kinda why we had the scanner going - We were looking to impart some good old American justice.”

He raised an eyebrow. 

Krieger pretended to turn toward a nonexistent sound. “Shit - I think that’s the fuzz.”

“Shit.”

“Say, do you like bourbon?”

And just like that, Ray was squished on the bench seat between his lover, who was sweating with anticipation, and a complete stranger, who was sweating for some unknown reason. Ray guessed it was the man’s perpetual state. Not the tastiest treat, but it was only Krieger’s first hunt.

 

“I’ll take your coat,” said Krieger, “And the bat, if you’d like.” 

The man handed over both items. Krieger dropped the jacket on the floor and, with a crack of wood against skull, sent him flat on the floor. Unconscious by his own weapon. 

“Where should we do this?” Krieger said.

“You decide.” 

“The bathroom?”

“Don’t  _ ask...” _

“The bathroom.” 

They picked the man up, Krieger by the arms and Ray by the ankles, and started up the stairs. After dumping the man in the tub, Ray said, “I’m going to save us some time and take my clothes off.”

“I’ll tie him up.”

Ray was waiting on the bed, in only his underwear. The room was eerily quiet, yet buzzing with excited energy. Krieger was nervous, but pleasantly so. He felt the same way he did when he lost his virginity.

He removed his shirt and climbed into bed beide Ray.

“Now,  _ mon cher,” _ said Ray, speaking softly, “you are a doctor. So these sensations are going to scare you. You’ll want to fight, and to stop me, and once that passes, you’re going to be so blindingly hungry and thirsty, it’ll feel like death. That’s when you go drink.”

“What if I don’t like it?”

“Oh, you will.”

Krieger nodded.

“Are you ready?”

After months of deliberating, turning each and every doubt and worry over and over in his mind, he found his nerves quite calm.

“I am absolutely ready.”

Ray gently pushed Krieger so he was laying flat on the bed, and straddled him. He kissed Krieger hard one last time, thus beginning the process.

First, he surveyed Krieger’s neck, trying to gauge the best place to bite. He decided the base of Krieger’s neck was best, mostly because that’s where his own bitemarks were and he’d never had any problems. Krieger’s heart was beating fast, Ray could hear, so he rested a hand there.

“I’m going to miss this sound.”

Krieger’s eyes were closed, but he smiled.

“And your smell.” He leaned into Krieger’s neck and took a deep breath. It was such a fresh, masculine scent. “But it’s worth it to taste you.”

Krieger braced himself.

“You’re sure you’re ready?”

“Positive.”

Ray kissed the tender flesh. “I’m sorry,” he said, and pierced the soft skin.

It hurt as much as one would think. Ray’s fangs were razor sharp, so the actual breaking of skin wasn’t bad, but they were so damn thick, Krieger felt like he was being stabbed with an ice pick. After a few minutes, the stinging abated in favor of a dull ache. But God, what an ache.

Ray, meanwhile, had never been so aroused in his entire life. Krieger’s blood was as rich and delectable as he’d predicted, maybe more. He swirled his tongue around the wounds, savoring every drop.

Krieger was growing fatigued, but relaxed. He didn’t think he had the energy to kill anyone just then. Maybe they could save it for tomorrow, or even the next day; he’d quite like to spend all day in bed tomorrow. Was Ray warm on top of him, or was he getting colder? Now that he thought about it, indeed, the temperature had dropped…

Panting, Ray stopped for air, but only for a moment. He watched the hot blood pulse from the wounds and felt the same prideful pleasure as he did when Krieger gasped for breath around his cock, choking on the cum but swallowing dutifully...Oh, he was so hard it hurt. He licked the little pinpricks and moaned at the taste.

_ “Wie schmeckt es?” _

“What, my love?”

“Ah... _ Keine Ursache.” _

Krieger was tired, but suddenly distressed. He frantically sorted through his inventory of worries and tried to identify what he was panicking about, but realized there was nothing. He simply  _ felt  _ panicked because his heart was beating so quickly. So rapidly, in fact, that the blood was roaring in his ears. When he tried to move, his leg brushed against Ray’s throbbing cock.

The man in the tub had woken up.

Krieger kept trying to move.

“Not yet,  _ mon chaton _ .”

Krieger grunted and struggled again.

“Not yet, my love, just a minute.”

Ray stroked Krieger’s hair. Krieger had begun to cry.

“Oh, my love, just a minute more.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You do. Besides, it’s too late to stop.”

He leaned back down and kept drinking. Krieger was weeping pitifully, now, and Ray had to hold him by the hair to stop him from jerking away. 

Krieger’s mind had been foggy, but now, it was crystal clear. He was tortuously aware of his weak limbs, blurred vision, fluttering heart, something had gone wrong, surely, it wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

The man in the tub was yelling.

He could hardly move, now, and he was so dizzy that if he somehow stood, he’d have no idea which way was up. His balance was off and his vision was nonexistent, a mess of black and stars. With great effort, he said, “Something’s wrong.”

“Hush, my love.”

His hummingbird heart was skipping beats. Any movements he could manage were lethargic and useless.

“Ray…?”

“I’m here.”

Krieger’s eyelids were heavy, but his vision was so marred by now that he couldn’t even tell whether they were open. They were, in fact, wide open, even more bugged-out than usual. The red rims made them look greener than ever. He died like this.

Ray sat back and waited. He knew for a fact that the virus was doing is job; he’d turned one person before, and recognized the feeling of the dispersion of venom from his gums and into Krieger’s veins. But still, it was eerie, watching his lover’s dead eyes stare into his own, uncomprehending. Especially in this stage, when Ray couldn’t help but wonder if something  _ had  _ gone wrong after all.

Until - still not breathing, heart not beating - those eyes blinked.

“Aaron?”

“Yes?”

“How do you feel?”

“I...I can’t see.” He reached up and felt for his glasses. They were there, alright. He removed them and found his vision was better without them.

“Do you feel alright?” 

“I’ve never felt so…Wonderful!”

“Really?”

_ “Ja, _ but God, I - I need some - ” The man in the tub shouted something. Krieger’s eyes lit up.

“Go!”

Krieger hopped up and bounded to the bathroom. The shouting stopped quite suddenly. Ray stood in the doorway, watching Krieger lap up the blood like a starving animal. It appeared that Krieger had forgone the scalpel-slicing method in favor of using his new fangs.

“How is it?”

Krieger merely growled in response. He consumed all he could from the man’s veins, then snatched up the sponge and began soaking what remained from the bottom of the bathtub.

“Try mine, if you’re still hungry,” said Ray.

Krieger turned on him like a tiger noticing its prey. 

“What did you say?”

Ray sat on the counter and spread his legs. He was smiling with blood-stained teeth.

“There’s a juicy vein in the thigh, I believe. You’d know better than me,  _ docteur. _ ”

Krieger knelt before Ray and bit him before either man could change their minds.

Ray threw his head back in pleasure. It had been a long time since he felt that sensation; he’d taken few lovers in the past several years, especially not vampires.

Krieger, meanwhile, was sucking the blood from Ray’s body like sweet nectar. It tasted like syrup from a voluptuous fruit. Suddenly, he realized he’d never been so horny in his life.

“Finger yourself,” he said, “And suck my cock.”

“No need for the former,” said Ray, slipping out of his underthings. He turned around and revealed a butt plug. “I suspected you’d be eager, so I thought we’d skip a step. The latter, however…”

He began sucking Krieger’s cock just as he was told. 

“Do a good job,  _ Liebe,  _ it’s all the lube you’re getting.” Ray hummed around his cock.  _ “Scheisse,  _ that’s enough!”

Ray spat on Krieger’s dick once more. Krieger, now equipped with superhuman strength, pulled Ray up and pushed him toward the tub.

“I wanna fuck on top of him,” Krieger said, meaning the dead body.

Ray kissed him, and they stumbled into the tub, tripping and tangling over and into each other. Feverish for a vampire (but still rather chilly for a human being), Krieger removed Ray’s butt plug, haphazardly pumped his cock with a spit-slick hand, and fucked Ray in a truly wild manner. He was, frankly, behaving selfishly, thrusting at speed and angles that he found most stimulating. Ray didn’t mind. For one thing, he remembered what Krieger was feeling, and therefore would’ve let him work off his sexual energy even if he wasn’t particularly enjoying it. For another, Krieger happened to be hitting all the right spots. Now that they were equally strong, Krieger had a good, firm grip, and was tagging Ray’s prostate hard. So hard, in fact, that some ribs were cracked in the process, but luckily neither of the lovers’; the body, growing cold, provided some much-needed cushioning for Ray.

By the time it was over, Ray was trembling. He hadn’t been fucked with such force in years, and as a result, hadn’t cum so hard in just as long. He couldn’t feel his legs.

Krieger felt much the same. He growled with each exhale, raising goosebumps on Ray’s neck.

“Can I fuck you again?”

“Already?” He was impressed.

“Please,  _ Liebe, _ I’ve never felt like this.”

“Go ahead, please do!”

Krieger was pumping his dick up again when Ray remembered something.

_ “Mon Dieu,  _ after all that, I forgot to say it!”

“What, babydoll?”

“I love you, Aaron!”

Krieger growled, and began the vicious cycle all over again.

After that round, they took a break to clean up and dispose of the body. Afterward, Krieger was still painfully aroused. Luckily, Ray had a solution.

On the bed, Ray kissed Krieger’s body, starting at his hairy chest and working up to his neck. He stuck his tongue out, letting a string of spit drip on to the skin, (you can take the man out of France…) and only had to mouth it for a minute of two before Krieger was moaning, clutching at his lover, climaxing once again.

“I think I might be addicted to that.”

“Already?”

“Yes, God, that’s...It hits so hard!”

“The novelty wears off after a few times, my love. After that it’s little more than a cheap trick, for when you’re excited but don’t have much time.”

“That’s a large portion of my waking life.” He smiled. “Hey, did you just call me your love?”

“Is that alright?”

“Of course, babydoll…” He pulled his lover in close and nuzzled his hair.  _ “Schnuckiputzi.” _

_ “What?!” _

_ “Schnuckiputzi!” _

“That word is a mistake of etymological evolution.”

“Oh, be a good sport! There’s an idea, how about I take a page from  _ The Great Gatsby?” _

“Meaning?”

Putting on an especially pompous American accent, Krieger said, “I love ya, old sport!”

“Mm-hmm...Let’s go back to the snoopy-poopsie.”

 

That night, they were both exhausted, falling effortlessly into deep sleep. Until, in the middle of the night (3 P.M.) they were roused by Cheryl.

Krieger answered her knocking.

“Yes?”

“Someone’s here for you.”

“Ray, there’s - ”

“No.  _ You.” _

His blood ran cold. He had no enemies, but it was far less likely to be a friend. Trying to conceal his shakiness, he threw on a simple outfit - slacks, suspenders, and an undershirt - and descended the twisting staircase, robe-and-turban-clad Ray following close behind.

“Where?” he asked.

“Outside, still. I wasn’t gonna just let them in!”

More than a little apprehensive, Krieger opened the door.

_ “Heilige Sheisse, _ it’s him, you were right!”

Krieger was numb. His brother, Arnold, reached out and rested a hand on his cheek.

“This can’t be real.” He shook his brother off and stepped forward, toward the youngest. “Arnold...Adolph?”

“He changed it,” said Arnold.

“Probably prudent.”

Adolph was standing far back, looking at Krieger with aged eyes. Always wiry, he was now near skeletal.

Arnold smiled. “Look how excited he is.”

Aaron, familiar with his body language, nodded. “What's your new name,  _ Mausie?” _

Formerly-Adolph flicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth several times before managing, “Ari.”

Ari. Ari, who’d been at Ryan’s house! 

“Clever; doesn't get much more Jewish than that, does it?”

Ari preened. He knew his big brother would appreciate his choice.

Tears were burning Aaron’s eyes. They were really alive, really here in front of him, safe and sound. Men he'd spent years grieving were standing on his doorstep. He reached out and cupped Ari's face in his hand.

Ari flicked his tongue again. That meant he was struggling to find words. Aaron waited patiently.

“Why - Why - ” Another flick. “Why are your hands so cold?”


	5. Three Quarters of the Leibowitz Brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Krieger's brothers are inspired by his clones. My best friends and I have made OC's of the canon clones. Two of them (Ari and Arnold, though they have different names in the modern day AU) sustained injuries during the Clone Fight in that one ep in season 5: Ari is crazy, impulsive, and mean (well, not so much in this fic) bc of trauma to his head. The injury also exacerbates his autism (krieger is autistic u cowards) and makes it more difficult to manage. Meanwhile Arnold is disabled bc his leg was injured. I parallelled these disabilites in this fic

At the table, Krieger couldn’t take his eyes off of his brothers. He was so filled with shock and nerves that he couldn’t even eat; most uncharacteristic of a Liebowitz. Instead, he opted to sit at the head of the table, smoking cigarette after cigarette and staring.

The boys looked so much older than before, but of course, it had been...How many years? He struggled to do the math through the fog in his head - he’d faked his death in 1933, and it had been too risky to maintain contact. Of course, he thought he’d die in a matter of a few years; it never occurred to him that he’d escape once he’d been found out.

1933? The year at present was 1947. Now that he actually saw his brothers, he realized he’d forgotten what they’d looked like.

Arnold was as hearty as ever, though he was using a cane, now. He must be pushing 40 - yes, that's right, he was 37.

Ari, meanwhile, had a handsome face, though he hid it behind a perpetual grimace. His collarbones stuck out in sharp relief. It didn’t look like his clothes were touching his body, except where his belt cinched his pants around his nonexistent waist.

“Have you two been eating?”

Arnold nodded. “We both have good jobs.”

“It's not _you_ I'm worried about.”

“Ari has gained forty pounds since we moved to America.”

Oh, God, it didn't look like he had forty pounds altogether.

Ray set a glass of water in front of Ari (he’d sent poor Cheryl straight back to bed, and of course, didn’t want to interrupt, so he was reheating leftovers and waiting on the three of them) but was met with protest.

“Um, do you have anything not made of the glass?” asked Arnold, through his thick accent. “Sure.”

Arnold turned to Krieger. “Ari got hit in the head.”

“Oh, great.”

“Uh-huh. Knocked the impulse control right out of him.”

Ari was rocking back and forth in his chair. “I’m not a child.”

“How’d he hit his head?”

“I didn’t hit it! Someone else did!”

“Who did, _Mausie?”_

“I don’t know his name, but I’d know him if I saw him.” Then, he answered the question that had been burning in Aaron’s mind: “It happened in the camp.”

His stomach dropped.

“Arnold…”

“It’s been two years and I haven’t dealt with it. I don’t want to start now.”

“Can you answer just one question?”

He nodded reluctantly.

“The others…?”

“Abelard is alive. We haven’t seen him since we got separated at the camps, but we’ve been writing him. He’s on his way to Los Angeles right now. Mother and Father are dead.”

The news of his parents’ death didn’t hit Krieger in the gut like he thought it would. In fact, he realized now, it soothed something in him, a nagging unsureness. He’d assumed they were _all_ dead, but never positive either way. Now, he was glad for what he had: his brothers, and the luxury of putting his parents to rest for sure.

Although, secretly, he believed his brother was lying about Abelard. He’d once had a dream in which Abelard appeared to him, like God to Solomon, given him a message, kissed his cheek, and died. When he woke up, the world was quieter than usual, and he realized that for his whole life he’d been hearing himself take two breaths, his heart beat in precise unison with another, and now it was silent except for his own. Abelard was dead, he was sure of it.

Ray entered with a tray and set a bowl of soup before each man. Arnold’s eyes widened. He started to speak, but it was too late.

Ari stared down at his bowl, lips pressed into a hard line. Trembling, he picked it up and threw it away with such force that it flew off the table and onto the floor.

 _“Ari!”_ cried Arnold, but his brother had already fled the room.

Aaron and Ray stared out the door, shocked.

“He hates soup. You remember, Aaron.”

 _“Ja,_ but…”

“That’s all they gave us in the camp. Bread and soup. Eventually, he had to eat it, or he’d starve, but it repulsed him. He really can’t stand it, now, just the sight of it...”

_“Scheisse.”_

“It’s been difficult, Aaron. But however hard it is for us, it’s threefold for him.”

An inconsistency was needling at Aaron’s brain. “So, let me get something straight.”

“Go on.”

“You found us from that photo, right? The one of us at Dreamland?”

“How’d you know that?”

“The reporter he got the picture from is Ray’s friend. He called us when Ad - when _Ari_ had such a strong reaction. Of course, I didn’t realize it was him…”

“Alright. So?”

Aaron leaned forward. “What was he doing with a guy like Jack Ryan?”

Arnold blushed a little. “What does a Liebowitz man do with a spry young blonde? You should know. You’ve got one of your own!”

“How is _he_ sexually active?”

Arnold blinked. “Aaron, he’s thirty-three!”

Ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach - when last he’d seen his brother, he was 19 - Aaron said, “But he’s like a child!”

“Only sometimes. Other times, he’s so charming; that’s most times, actually. You’ll see. You must understand, he’s a little overwhelmed. He missed you.”

He nodded. Everything was different, now.

Ray and Ari entered the room a minute later. Neither brother had realized Ray even left. To both of their surprise, Ari kissed Ray’s cheek and calmly sat back down in his seat.

“We will skip the first course for today,” said Ray. He plucked the cigarette from Krieger's hand and took a drag. “And I think we'll save the mess for Cheryl.”

 

Halfway through the meal, Arnold rolled up his sleeves. It was such an innocuous gesture, but it sent a shiver down Aaron's spine. There was a blue tattoo on his brother's arm, a series of numbers.

He looked up at Ray to see if he'd noticed. He had, and was staring back, white as a sheet.

“You're scaring them,” said Ari.

“Eh?”

“Your tattoo.”

“Oh!” He rolled down his sleeves. “Sorry, I - ”

“Don't you dare apologize for what they did to us.”

Krieger gazed at his baby brother. There was suddenly an old man occupying his body.

“He’s not scaring us, Ari.”

“Then you’re a dumb-ass.”

“Really?” said Arnold, “At the dinner table?”

“Can I see yours?” Aaron asked.

“No. _I've_ never even seen it. No one ever will.”

“What do you mean?”

His brown eyes pierced Aaron’s. “Arnold read me the serial number, and I memorized it. But I’ve never looked at the scar. Not even once. Sometimes I was tempted, because I thought maybe it wasn’t really there, but then I remembered how much it hurt.”

Aaron's head was spinning.

“Abelard got his tattooed over.” Arnold was trying to change the subject, and it worked.

“He _what?!”_

“That’s what he said in his letters! He has five tattoos, he said!”

“Oh, he’s messing around.”

“This is the oldest brother?” Ray asked.

“No, my twin.”

Ray blinked. “You're a twin?”

Aaron nodded, still not convinced Abelard was alive. Maybe they were lying, or the letters were forged…

“He's arriving at the end of August sometime,” said Arnold.

Aaron just kept nodding. He listened to them talk, responded every now and then, but his mind was somewhere else.

The guilt was eating away at his stomach. His poor brothers were surely having a hard time believing it was really _him._ He'd covered all his tracks when he faked his death, except, of course, for Abelard. But he knew for a fact his twin wouldn't have revealed the secret.

What Ari must have felt when he saw that picture…

And during the war, his entire family starved, endured torture, watching each other wither away (well, Ari and Arnold were together, then Abelard and Father, and Mother was...somewhere, all alone).

What was he doing, he wondered, at the moment that Ari got hit in the head with the butt of a rifle?

 

_Aaron straightened his tie, subtly loosening it. The room was, of course, the perfect temperature - nothing more and nothing less than perfection for the chief resident of the best hospital in Germany - but Krieger was burning up. Was it the effort of restraining his hatred, or the hatred itself that made him sweat?_

_He swallowed some punch around the lump in his throat and turned back around toward the party. No matter how thoroughly he braced himself, his stomach always sank when he saw the Swastika, and it was no different this time when he saw the huge flag hanging from the ceiling of his superior’s home. Everyone was talking and drinking and dancing and laughing like it wasn’t even there. Or worse, they knew it was there, and loved it. In fact, it was the reason they were gathered here tonight._

_He looked down. Better to seem sad and drunk than to be caught staring with disdain at the pride of Germany. He wondered how many other people in the room felt the same way he did right now..._

“Herr Doktor!” _Ah. At least one, or so he hoped._

 _There was a soft little hand on his shoulder._ “Frau Wagner.”

_In German, she reprimanded, “It’s Lisa, you know that.”_

_“It isn’t proper for one to address his subordinate by her first name,” he chided, but his eyes were sparkling with humor._

_“But it’s proper for him to make love to her on the examination table?”_

_He glanced around, but no one was listening. Of course not; she knew better._

_“An outlier that should not be counted. Besides, I think we both needed it that night.”_

_Lisa nodded. They’d had a patient who was doing incredibly, passing all the previous benchmarks. He was their best subject so far. So, it was logical that when he died, he died most horribly. They’d tried their best to save him, but of course, it was futile. If only they could overcome the systemic shock._

_“I still insist you call me by my first name.” She was smiling again. “We’re not at work. Any impropriety, we’ll blame on the alcohol.”_

_“In that case - since this is my fourth glass of punch - may I ask you to dance?”_

_“Yes, you may ask me.” She wasn’t going to give it to him easy. She never did. But wasn’t that what he found so appealing?_

_He held out his arm. “A dance,_ Fräulein?”

 _She took it. “It would be my pleasure,_ Herr Doktor.”

 _Krieger was fighting the urge to pull her close, let her head rest on his shoulder, cradle her hips as she swayed to the music...And she felt much the same way. His warm hands, tightly gripping hers; broad shoulders, shielding her from everyone else; and gorgeous cheekbones, an indisputable testament to German superiority; were almost irresistible. But of course, they_ must _resist. For now._

_No one wanted to be the first to leave, but someone had to. It was ten o’clock by the time someone made the move, and once the first couple departed, everyone followed soon after._

 

_He didn’t know it, but his brothers were in bed, sharing a cot, trying in vain to get some sleep. But they knew they wouldn't. They never did._

 

_Outside, Krieger draped Lisa’s shawl over her shoulders._

_“Are you cold,_ Fräulein?”

_“A little.”_

_“Would you like to come back to my apartment for a cup of tea?” He remembered her saying, once, how little she cared for coffee._

_“I would love to.”_

_He really did make tea, but they hardly got the chance to drink. What little he’d sipped made his tongue hot, but she hardly minded; it was warm and wet and rough against her pussy, and that’s all she really cared about._

_Krieger had heard men complain about cunnilingus, because who on Earth actually_ wanted _to taste pussy? He didn’t say anything at the time, but silently answered, “I do!” It was difficult to imagine how someone could complain about the act; did it smell like a flower? Taste like a candy? No, but did cock?_

_There was no better place in the world, he thought at that moment, than with one's head beneath a woman's skirts._

 

_The door to their barrack was thrown open. A flashlight that seemed more like a floodlight was shining around, exacerbating Adolph’s headache. He didn’t realize he was being addressed. His head was pounding so loudly._

 

_His favorite thing to do was fuck her with his tongue. If he fingered her a little bit first, spreading her open, he could get penetrate deeper than he’d originally thought possible._

_Her favorite seemed to be when he captured her clit between his lips and sucked on it. She made a high sound, and whatever reservations she had about messing up his hair disappeared as she grabbed it and held him in place._

_“Do you like that?” he asked, with his mouth still up against her. She moaned; his beard was tickling her thighs._

“Doktor…”

 

_Arnold was panicking. His brother was the only one who hadn’t risen at the guard’s order. Frantically, he pulled Adolph up beside him, but he wouldn’t stand. He sank right back down onto the mattress._

_The guard was talking to someone else. He had a second, but only that._

 

_He flicked his tongue against her, teasing, before finally taking her clit in his mouth once more. He fingered her as he sucked, and when she came, licked her slowly in an effort to taste it. His effort was successful._

_Lisa was panting and flush when he sat up, licking his lips._

_“What would you like in return?” She was fully prepared - and eager - to express her gratitude._

_“Kiss me.”_

_“Surely that’s not all!”_

_“Kiss me, taste yourself.”_

_He had a way of making the simplest things sound so erotic. Lisa cradled his face in her hands and brought him closer. She could smell her scent on his beard, and found that she didn’t mind it. They kissed gently at first, then hard. Soon, she realized that he was doing to her mouth what he’d just done to her pussy: flicking his tongue, swirling it, teasing her. It wasn’t long before she found that she was wet again._

_He always did this, turned something straightforward, like a dance or a kiss, into something sensual, just because of how much he wanted it. He could have said, “Please, Lisa, just hold my hand,” and she’d be glad to. No matter how he denied it, it was clear that he considered her mere presence a blessing, let alone contact._

 

_Arnold shook his brother and pulled him up again._

_“Adolph! Wake up!” he hissed. The guard heard him and turned._

_This time, his wobbling legs sent him face first onto the floor._

 

_“Do you taste it?”_

_“Yes,” she breathed._

_He was stroking his cock, now. He was so odd - she reached out to jack him off, but he refused the advance. She didn't mind too much. He came in just a few minutes, anyway._

_On her way out the door, he gave her one last kiss goodbye. Right then, Adolph’s head hit the pavement, and the butt of a rifle sent his vision blinding white. It was accompanied by a crack as loud as a gunshot, but he didn’t hear it over the ringing in his ears. Arnold heard it._

_As soon as the guard left, Arnold bent over and vomited, disregarding the groans from his roommates. It had been such a sickening crunch._

 

“Aaron, look at your brother!”

Adolph - Ari - was lounging back in his chair, wearing Ray’s turban.

“I love the way you dress,” said Ari. “When I saw that picture of you two, I thought you were a woman.”

“Ari!”

“Let him be, Arnold,” said Ray. “Surely you realize I _do_ dress like a woman, and I do it on purpose!”

Arnold blushed. “Sorry, Ari.”

Ari was now puffing at Ray’s cigarette. “I’m afraid I’m far too high above your pathetic station to bother forgiving you.”

Ray turned to Aaron. “I may have to switch brothers!”

“Don’t bother. He has Jack Ryan, remember?”

Ari went completely red at this. “I do not!”

“We should call him,” said Ray. Ari remained red-faced, but conspicuously did not protest.

“We have to go soon,” said Arnold.

_“Non, s'il vous plait!”_

Arnold looked around awkwardly. “Was that...language?”

“I'd really appreciate it if you would stay,” said Aaron, too German to flat-out beg.

“I have to take my medicine. We'll come back tomorrow.”

Ari scoffed. “Medicine!”

“It helps my leg!”

“Arnold smokes reefers, Aaron, every night!”

Arnold slammed his fist on the table. “I can't sleep otherwise, you _know_ about my leg! You're welcome, by the way, or have you forgotten how I got this injury?!”

Ari rolled his eyes and puffed a cloud of smoke toward his brother.

“Well,” said Ray, “If it's marijuana you want, we should _definitely_ call Ryan.”

“I couldn't ask you to do that.”

“Then I'll do it of my own volition. As long as Ari has no protests…?”

Ari said nothing. That wasn't necessarily an indication that he wasn't protesting, but his body language was relaxed.

“Is he going to be free on a Friday at…” Aaron checked his watch. “7 P.M.?”

“He's free when I tell him he's free.”

Odd, to say the least. Krieger followed Ray out of the dining room.

“What was that?”

“What, _mon cher?”_

_“He's free when you tell him he's free?”_

_“Oui._ Otherwise, what am I paying for?”

“I'm totally lost.”

“He is _ma pute,_ remember?”

“Your _what?!”_

“My whore.”

“I know what it means!”

“Then why did you ask?” The phone clicked and whirred with each number he dialled.

“What do you mean, he's your _whore?”_

“I pay his rent - a lovely suite downtown - and a reasonable rate when we, you know, _faire crac-crac_. And in exchange, he is available whenever I ask.”

“Since when?”

“Winter, 1944. He was home for Christmas, I saw him in uniform, he didn't stand a chance.”

“Are you the one who turned him?”

“Of course - _Ah, mon amie!”_ Evidently, Ryan had answered the phone. Ray proceeded to babble on in French. Krieger didn't understand most of it, but he heard his and his brothers’ names and inferred that Ray was explaining the situation.

To his credit, Krieger did understand one phrase, just before Ray hung up. He couldn't pronounce it himself, but he recognized it due to the sheer volume with which Ray used it. More or less a French version of “Because I said so.”

 

Krieger had every intention of answering the door when Ryan arrived, but when the doorbell rang, Ari bounded out of the room towards it. It was several minutes before they entered the room together.

“Great to see you again, Doctor Krieger.”

Ari and Arnold looked at each other - they had no idea who or what a Krieger was - but said nothing.

“And you must be Arnold,” he said, shaking the middle brother's hand. No one had to wonder why he was putting so much effort into making a good impression; after he said his hello's, he settled back next to Ari, and gingerly took the man’s hand.

Ray insisted that they smoke in the drawing room, where he didn't care about the smell. Ryan took out a few joints and laid them out on the table.

“Ah, _mon amie,_ I'm afraid I don't have a match! Could you fetch me one from upstairs?”

Ryan furrowed his brow. “I have - ”

“Upstairs, yes, in any bedroom except for mine. I know I left a matchbook upstairs!”

“I'll get it,” said Aaron, stupidly.

“Ryan, perhaps Ari will help you look? And do bring one of the reefers with you, in case you find it.”

“Oh!” He went bright red. “I don't think Ari wants to - ”

The man in question had already snatched up a joint, and now grabbed Ryan by the collar and dragged him out of the room. Ray took a match from his robe pocket and lit it, smiling proudly at his matchmaking. As if wild horses could’ve kept those two apart.

It wasn't long until Arnold, emotionally exhausted and high, drifted off to sleep on Aaron's shoulder. For the first time in 13 years, all of his brothers were accounted for. He felt no uncertainty, doubt, or grief, and found that his mind was quite empty without these things. He slept so deeply that Ray and Aaron's conversation didn't rouse him at all.

“You realize they're probably having sex up there, right?”

 _“Mon cher,_ they are _certainly_ having sex!”

“You're okay with Ari eating out of your dish?”

“What did I tell you, just yesterday?”

Krieger glared.

“I don't care about who Ryan sleeps with, past, present, or future. Like I told you: Live simply. Don't be vengeful over such petty things.”

“Petty? My…my partner pays some guy for sex, and I'm just supposed to be fine with the knowledge that I apparently cannot fulfill him? It’s petty of me to be disturbed by that?”

“The last time I was intimate with him was October of 1946.”

“Well, what do you keep him around for, then?”

“You really want to know?” he snapped. “You have no right, but I’ll tell you anyway: You remember your first night, the eerie stillness of this house. I lived every single day like that, alone in this huge place, listening to my own footsteps echo down the hall. Pardon me, but maybe I wanted someone to rely on.”

Krieger looked down at the floor. “Well, no one forced you to buy such a big house.”

Maybe it was the weed, maybe it was love, maybe it was just because they both fucking needed it, but for some reason, that sent them both into fits of laughter.

Krieger fell asleep that night on the couch, nestled between his long-lost brother and newfound lover. For once, he slept well.


	6. A Fly on the Wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Porn between ari and ryan, it has no effect on the plot!! Bonus chapter more than anything

Ari was less than thrilled at the prospect of seeing Ryan, at first. He hadn’t made an ideal first impression. But once Ray made the phone call, he found that there was a bubble of excitement growing in his belly. It burst in favor of nerves once the doorbell rang, but nevertheless, he knew he had to be the one to answer it. So, he did.

Ryan looked him up and down with a dimpled grin.

“I’m loving the hat, cinnamon.”

Ari blushed. ‘Cinnamon’ was their joke. They’d met at Dreamland, over drinks at the bar, and somehow it came up that Ari absolutely could not pronounce the word. Ryan dubbed it his nickname henceforth. Also, he’d forgotten he was wearing the turban.

He stepped back, giving Ryan room to enter, but the man didn’t move.

“Are you gonna invite me in?” He laughed nervously.

“Oh, sure!” He cursed himself internally at his inability to remember social rules; he had no clue Ryan was the weirdo here. “You are hereby invited in.”

Ryan entered and pulled Ari into a kiss. He wasn’t sure what it was about the guy, but he found him absolutely fascinating. He was just so odd; “You are hereby invited in” when “Come in” would have sufficed just fine. “You are hereby invited in.” Ryan didn’t think that phrase would ever even occur to him.

“Congratulations, by the way,” said Ryan. “Ray explained the whole situation, with your brother.”

“Oh, thank God!” He leaned on the huge door as he shut it. “I was scared you thought I was crazy!”

“Oh, I did. Now, I’m not so sure.” He pulled Ari in for another peck. “But I hope so.”

Ari wrapped his arms around Ryan’s neck. “Maybe we can finish what we started, this time.”

Ryan started to reply, but Ari was suddenly out of his grip, scampering down the hall toward the drawing room. What did older men say, when referring to filthy teases, but too prudish to say so? Oh, yeah - the little minx.

 

Ryan silently celebrated when Ray dismissed them. He led Ari upstairs to his favorite bedroom, the one with a queen-size mattress and a frame that had four posts.

Ari hopped into bed and patted the spot next to him. 

“Do you want to smoke, first?” Ryan asked.

“There’s so much I want to do to you! Light it up and we’ll smoke as we go.”

Ryan obeyed, removing his shirt once he’d retrieved a match from his breast pocket. He sat next to Ari, trying to act casual when really, he knew he was being surveyed.

“What’re some things you want to do to me?” Ryan said.

Ari hummed and reached out, but before he touched Ryan, asked, “May I?”

“Of course.”

Ari began stroking his abs, lifting the hem of Ryan’s undershirt for a better peek. He took the joint from Ryan and said, “I want to lick you.”

Ryan snorted.

“Oh, you laugh?” He took a long drag, held it in for a moment, and continued, “Will it be funny when I start right here…” He pressed a hand to Ryan’s hard chest. “Then lower and lower…” He moved his hand accordingly, stopping  _ just _ short of Ryan’s crotch. “And refuse to go any further?” His fingertips were in Ryan’s pants, tortuously close, but not quite where they needed to be.

“That sounds hilarious.”

“Oh?”

Ryan pulled him close by the shirt. “Cinnamon, I don’t think you have the self control.”

“What, because you’re so irresistible?”

He plucked the joint from Ari’s fingers. “Yes.”

They were, quite suddenly, kissing so hard that their teeth clacked together. They took turns with the reefer: While Ari smoked, Ryan kissed his chest, punctuated by little nips. They stung; he captured the skin with his front teeth like a flea. Ari loved it. When Ryan got his turn with the joint, Ari kept his promise, swirling his tongue around his nipples and going lower, lower, lower…

But not low enough.

“I’m serious, Cinnamon, I don’t beg.” 

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“Then what on Earth are you waiting for?”

He was holding the waist of Ryan’s pants down, mouthing the skin. “Your permission.”

 

Ari hummed, trying to keep quiet. This was pure habit - Ryan would love to hear his moans - but they were focused on other things.

He was rocking back and forth on Ryan’s dick, riding him faster and faster with each passing second. Oh, the plans he’d had in mind, all forgotten once Ryan was actually in him. Tragic.

But Ari couldn't help himself. He'd been dangling Ryan at the edge of orgasm for a long time, determined to savor this experience.  He'd never been with an uncircumcised man before, and it was thrilling. 

“Please, baby, I’m begging you,” said Ryan, “Cum for me?”

Ari shook his head. His voice quivered as he said, “I’m not ready, yet.”

Ryan ran a hand up Ari’s thighs. The joint was still smoldering between his fingers. “But if you cum, we can start all over again.”

He rolled his hips a few times, then stopped moving altogether.

“Oh, you can’t be serious.”

Ari’s eyebrows shot up. “Ah! Maybe I’m not.”

“Huh?”

“Maybe I don’t want to give you satisfaction.”

“Then what’re we - ”

_ “Maybe,  _ I want you to take it.”

Ryan blinked. That was all the convincing he needed. He reached around Ari, got a firm grip on his ass, and fucked him hard from below.

Quite unintentionally, the cherry of the joint ashed onto Ari’s leg. He yelped at the burn.

“Shit, baby, sorry, I - ”

But it seemed that pain was Ari’s pleasure, for he put his hands on Ryan’s chest to hold himself steady and finally fucked himself on Ryan’s cock.

Ari came first, with a cry. He held up his shirt so it wouldn’t get soaked, and that was the first time Ryan got a look at the man’s cock. Surrounded by curly hair (though rather darker, and shorter cropped, than the ones on Ari’s head), it was long and curved, not at all what he was expecting. His orgasm followed at the sight of Ari, shivering as he fucked himself through the last waves.

When it was over, Ari rolled over next to Ryan on the bed and shut his eyes. He was still wearing his long-sleeved shirt, buttoned up to his neck, but it was so loose that it hardly touched his body. Laying there, small and content, beside Ryan, a blonde adonis, they truly looked like a pair of angels.

Ryan reached over and lifted the hem of Ari’s shirt.

“We’re  _ definitely _ going to have to explore that.”

“Oh, but I love how you fuck me.”

“It would be cruel to tantalize me with that cock and not let me have it.  _ Cruel! _ ”

“But yours is so thick, I can hardly wrap my fingers around it!”

Ryan paused. “Well, we could always take turns…”

“Mm-hmm. I don’t suppose you’re ready for another - ”

Ryan was already kissing him. He was, as Ari would soon learn,  _ always _ ready for another.


	7. The Onset of Stress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a freaking review. Even if you tell me this is shit and u hate it. It will make my day

He was nervous, but it was impossible to tell; he had such a steady hand. Doctor’s hands. Krieger turned over the last card. It was a four of diamonds.

There were seven playing cards laid out on the coffee table before Ray, who was sitting on the floor. Krieger leaned forward from his perch on the couch, elbows on his knees, and examined the formation.

After a few minutes, he nodded.

“What do you see, _mon cher?”_

“I see...the party. The event.”

“Oh?” he glanced down skeptically. “What about it?”

“It’s going to be a disaster.”

“Oh, you don’t see anything in these cards!”

“You’re right, but didn’t I have you fooled for a minute?”

Ray scoffed.

“Maybe that’s my power: deception.”

“Good luck.”

Ray began cleaning up the cards, using his own power: telekinesis. As they flew neatly into their narrow box, he said, “Everyone like us gets _some_ kind of power or ability. The last thing I want is for yours to take us by surprise.”   
“Who cares?”

“You don’t see why it would be inconvenient if you were to, say, get in a fight with a coworker and ignite him with your mind?”

“That’s a possible power?”

“I wouldn’t rule it out. Especially with your temper.” He opened his mouth, and a cigarette landed between his lips. Ari and Arnold were asleep - they kept a normal schedule - so he was at liberty to use his own magic as much as he liked.

“My temper’s not _that_ bad.” He walked around the table and helped Ray up from the floor. “I’m just...frustrated, lately.”

“I know. I’m sorry that I’m so busy with the party…”

“It’s fine, babydoll, really.” He ghosted his lips against Ray’s, expecting the other man to close the gap. Instead, Ray turned and began exiting the room.

“Speaking of which, I absolutely _must_ finish these invitations tonight, or the notice will be too short for any of the guests I actually care about!”

Krieger released a sigh through his nose. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Of course, _caneton.”_

Of course.

“Maybe we’ll even open _l’armoire.”_

Krieger didn’t have high hopes. The cabinet must be dusty by now. Stuffed to the brim with whips, toys, gags, and more, they simply hadn't had the time in a long while.

Quite suddenly, he found himself on the opposite side of the door as his lover.

He was less than thrilled about Ray’s scarcity these past couple of weeks, and with the party still a month away, there seemed to be no end in sight. It wasn’t even a party _for_ anything; just a “seasonal event.” Whatever that meant.

Krieger actually headed to bed right then. He had a _lot_ of frustration, but even on his own, it was difficult to satiate: Ray was correct when he warned Krieger about masturbating with his bitemarks. It was nothing but a cheap trick. Fun, of course, lots of fun, but not the most satisfying. Certainly nothing like being with Ray. Being with him was a hazy blur of heat and sweat and several different languages. And, although neither of them had stamina problems, it was always over too soon for Krieger's taste...

 

_Not only were Ray’s hands tied to the bedpost behind him, he was blindfolded and - why not? - earplugged. Krieger could strike at any moment, he knew, and he was nervous, like when he was a child and his mother told him to shut his eyes right before a good slap to the cheek. The room was quiet and still, so he found himself inventing sounds and movements that caused him to wince or jump._

_He thought he was being silly; Krieger had tied him up before going to work, and couldn’t possibly be home yet. Little did he know, his predator arrived home early, and was circling the room, whip in hand._

_Krieger debated his approach...Should he crack the whip, striking the mattress in front of Ray? Or just shove his cock into Ray’s mouth? Or - and this was his favorite - get closer and closer, breathing lightly on Ray’s skin, and drive him crazy as he tried to figure out whether someone was really there?_

_It was a moment before he decided on the third option. He took a step closer, just one step, when there was a knock on the door._

_Wait, what?_

 

Another meek knock, followed by, “Aaron?”

He laid there in complete disbelief, staring up at the ceiling. He wiped the sweat from his brow before replying, “Ari?”

“Can I come in?”

 _Christ_. Hastily, he bunched up the blankets to cover up his erection. “Sure.”

Ari opened the door and approached. “You shouldn’t sleep with candles lit.”

“I wasn’t sleeping.”

“Why not? It’s the middle of the night.”

“Then why are _you_ awake?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

In 14 years, he hadn’t changed a bit. “Adolph - ”

“That’s not my name, I changed it. I changed my name. So don’t call me that, because I ch - ”

 _“Ari,_ why are you in here?!”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

Krieger sat up and glared. “Why did that compel you to come in here, specifically, when you have an entire estate - no, the entire planet - at your disposal?”

“I couldn’t sleep because I was thinking about you.”

“Oh.”

“I’ve hardly seen you. I spend more time with Ray.” This was true. When he wasn’t at work (he was a clerk at a large plant nursery, though he often took on other responsibilities, like sweeping the greenhouse. He loved it in there - the colors and humidity were a sensory wonderland for him) or with Ryan, he and Ray could be found talking, usually over wine and something sweet. What they discussed was a mystery to Krieger, but they got along swimmingly, and that warmed his heart. Or, it would, if these little talks didn’t cut so deeply into Ray’s valuable free time.

“I noticed that.”

“Did you know he’s in love with you?”

“I’m aware, yes.”

Ari sat on the bed beside his brother. “Isn’t that so strange?”

“What?”

“Someone loves you!”

“Ah, yes. How odd.”

“I know!” He leaned back onto the luxurious pillows. “Did you ever predict...All of this?” He indicated around the room.

“All of what?”

“A house, with food, and all of us together again? Plus _..._ the romance.”

Krieger’s expression softened. Despite his recent moodiness, he had to concede, “Things _have_ been pretty great lately.”

“I know. I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

Ari was beaming, fanning himself with his hands as though he was hot. It was a habit he’d had since he was a little boy. “I just can’t get over it. I’m so _happy,_ I can’t sleep. I never thought I’d be happy again!”

“Ari…”

“I really thought that I’d never, ever be happy. Even _after_ everything, there was no good music, everything tasted like chalk, colors were so dull - except the greenhouse. Now, it’s paradise.”

“Is that how you met Ryan?”

“Hm?”

“You met at Dreamland. Were you looking to fill the dullness?”

“Oh, yes. American boys are extremely proficient at making me forget my sorrows.”

Aaron rolled his eyes. “You _really_ haven’t changed a bit.”

“Is it my fault that men adore me?” He indicated toward his body, though very little of his form was visible: he was wearing a button-down that looked like a tent on him (it must be Ryan’s) and his boxer shorts, which made his legs look scrawny. “I’m irresistible.”

“Oh, calm down.”

“I’m serious! The secret to American men - can I trust you to keep this _quite_ secret?”

“Of course.”

“Well...The military ones, at least, they love being bossed around.”

“Do you know anything about Frenchmen?”

“I’ve heard they spit in your mouth.”

“Ray told you that?!”

Ari blinked. “No…”

“Oh, God.”

Ari tried to contain his laughter, but it was impossible.

“Shut up!”

“He spits in your mouth! Ray spits in your mouth!”

“I’ll spit in your eye, I swear! You khaki-whacky little - ”

Ari took Aaron’s face in his hands, and guided it toward his own. He had one eye closed, the other open wide. “Do it, Aaron, I dare you!”

He couldn’t, of course. He shook Ari loose and pretended to glare. They'd both missed this.

“You should go to sleep, Ari, Ray will throw a fit if he sees bags under your eyes.”

“You’re right. Can I sleep here?”

Aaron looked at the clock. 3 A.M. That meant it was only three in the afternoon to his internal clock. But he could use a nap.

“Sure.”

Still smiling, Ari nestled under the covers and rolled onto his stomach. Aaron grabbed some of the heavy pillows and placed them on Ari's back.

Ari chuckled. “You remembered.”

“Of course.” His brother always slept with some kind of weight on his back, ever since he was a little boy.

“I never would have guessed that you’d remember. Lately, I feel like we're strangers.”

Aaron just nodded, but Ari didn't see; his eyes were shut, and he was already drifting off to sleep. It was a relief to Aaron that he didn’t have to formulate some sham of a response; they _were_ strangers.

 

Hours later, Krieger was roused by Ray.

_“Was…?”_

“Hello, sleeping beautiful.”

Aaron smiled. “I feel strange.”

“It's 8 o'clock. Everyone's at work.”

Aaron looked around. Indeed, Ari was gone, and Ray was lounging in his place.

“I was thinking...I'm exhausted, and my hands are sore from addressing all those invitations. What would you say to a hot bath?”

“I'd say you're onto something.”

Ray grinned. A few minutes later, Aaron was feeling him up in the tub. He couldn't see due to the thick layer of bubbles, but he felt Ray's reaction in his hand, and heard the little whimpers. With each passing second, he grew more excited, himself.

After a particularly sweet sigh, Krieger nipped Ray's ear.

“Do you like that?”

Ray hummed.

“I know you do.” He was massaging Ray's balls with one hand and rubbing one of his nipples with the other. “C'mon, talk to me, babydoll.”

He just hummed again, though weakly.

A heinous thought occurred to Krieger. He shifted, trying to get a look at Ray's face. Sure enough, Ray had drifted off to sleep.

“Great.”

Ray muttered something in French, turned onto his side, and cuddled into Krieger's chest.

The doctor was not amused. He was hot and bothered, in a scalding bath with the sexiest creature on the planet, and still couldn't get any satisfaction. He couldn't even jack off; doing so in the tub would jostle Ray, as would trying to get up. He was trapped beneath Ray's body, hot and slick and bubbly from the bathwater. For a moment, he considered waking Ray up with a kiss, tossing him into bed, and fucking him in various positions until they were _both_ ready to sleep.

But that would make him an asshole.

So, instead, he leaned back and thought about the party. As much as he was cursing the whole idea, he had to admit he was excited. The only fancy parties he'd ever attended were events held by his bosses during the war. Champagne, music, dancing, food, the animalistic, instinctual feeling of cornered prey...not great. Ray's party, however, was another story.

Krieger was allowed _some_ input, when Ray was feeling generous. After all, as Ray's partner, they were both hosting. They'd had a wine tasting that resulted in the realization that Krieger knew absolutely nothing about wine. But Ray was happy to teach him. In fact, valued krieger’s opinion _for_ how uninformed it was. The wine at the party had to be of quality, but accessible to an uninformed palette. Anything too nuanced would fly above their heads. (Of course, this was for the general guests; Ray’s close friends would have their own private selection.)

Ray also asked for his opinion on the music, and received an intelligent response: it was Krieger's idea to use the Dreamland band. Surely, he figured, their presence would solidify their place as a distinguished outfit, and by extension, make Dreamland seem classier.

Krieger imagined what it would be like to dance with Ray in a ballroom full of people. Ray had connections, so anyone who objected to their lifestyle would mysteriously disappear, if they were even invited. It was such a strange thought, picturing himself wrapped around Ray, swaying gently, no one else batting an eye...Ray probably knew all kinds of fancy dances, maybe he'd teach him one or two.

He wondered what Ray would wear, and, for some reason, what Ari would wear. He'd taken to borrowing Ray's clothes - mostly hats and gloves - and wearing them around the house. Maybe he'd wear something of Ray's to the party. Although, both Ari and Arnold had been provided with more than sufficient wardrobes. Ray had done for the younger brothers just what he’d done for Aaron: before clothes, he purchased a variety of scented soaps, shampoos, and oils for them. (Arnold, like Aaron, stuck to Palmolive and shampoo, since he had no beard or mustache, and short-cropped curls. Ari, however, embraced the new toys, though he went a little overboard at first - there was one week, the first week after they’d received the items, during which he was so heavily perfumed that you could smell him coming from a mile away. But no one commented. They were just happy he was happy. Besides, to a human nose, it was probably much less pronounced.) Rather than design their wardrobes, Ray gave them each a catalogue and had them circle the items they wanted. When they gave back the catalogues the first time, Ray scoffed - each man had only selected two or three things. The second time, still, he wasn’t satisfied - a wardrobe was much more than a single suit, a pair of shoes, and a few ties! - but didn’t comment. He used his best judgement and ordered them each some fine day-suits, shirts, slacks, vests, sweaters, and one pair each of dress and work shoes.

Neither man knew what to do. They’d never owned more than three or four outfits at once in their whole lives. But they made it work.

Meanwhile, Ryan could be seen hanging around, more often than not helping Ari _out_ of these new garments. He'd taken to sleeping over most nights, and the two of them had a nasty habit of, well, nastiness, in less-than-private locations. Like the drawing room, or the library. Or up against the refrigerator. Or in the yard.

This was a problem for Krieger. Ryan being Ray's old flame lent itself to awkwardness that Ari couldn't detect. Of course, it was subtle - almost nonexistent, in fact - but it was present. In Krieger's mind, anyway. He hated imagining the things Ray and the eternally young, vivacious blonde had done together, but found it was impossible not to. Krieger had just begun to wonder what Ryan would wear to the party when he realized, as the whore, Ray probably paid for all of _his_ clothes, too.

All the bubbles had disappeared by the time Ray opened his eyes.

“Hey,” said Krieger. “You're awake.”

“How could I sleep with that _thing_ poking me in the back?”

“I'd gladly poke other places, but lately I've had to settle.”

Ray sighed and stretched. “I know, _mon bonbon,_ but I'm so preoccupied.”

“Exactly. That's the whole thing.”

“Once I've finished all the time-sensitive tasks, I swear I'll make it up to you. I already have some treats in mind.”

Krieger kissed Ray's shoulder. “You're so cold.”

“We should get to bed.”

“Good idea.” They rose, dripping lukewarm water. Krieger dried Ray off with a fluffy towel, then himself. He took his sweet time.

When he entered the bedroom, Ray was fast asleep on his side of the bed, the side with the little bonsai tree on the nightstand. Krieger climbed in, too. The mattress was so huge that there was really no need for them to touch. So they didn't. Not tonight.

 

“I feel like we should invite Ryan to join us,” said Ray, following Krieger down to the basement.

“He can’t hunt for himself?” He let the unconscious man fall down the last few steps, then dragged him to the middle of the room.

“He can, I just feel so rude!”

“He’s not worried about tact when he’s feeling my little brother up under the breakfast table. Or when he kisses your cheek goodbye.” The basement was a home-gym, barely used, these days. In the summer, Ray preferred to get his exercise in the pool.

“Watching them molest each other _is_ growing tiresome, but they’re young and in love. But what’s wrong with a kiss on the cheek?”

Krieger removed the man’s shirt. “Um, considering he’s your former whore? I think it’s entirely inappropriate that he’s hanging around at all.”

“Oh, please.”

“Hm?”

“You trust me, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Just, you know, the knowledge that he’s been...There.”

“Where? My asshole?”

Krieger looked away. Ray rarely used such vulgar words - in English, anyway.

“Because, _mon cher_ , if you have a particular aversion to other people I’ve had sex with, you are _not_ going to like the party.” It was only two weeks away, now.

“I _already_ don’t like the party.”

Ray was staring coldly at him. Internally, Krieger tried to discern whether he was supposed to break the silence, but after a moment, Ray said, “Go fetch Ryan.”

“This was my kill.”

“Fine. Enjoy. Just make sure you clean up _my_ house when you’ve finished - There’s nothing I hate more than a mess.”

“Fine.”

“Don’t have a nasty attitude. I already suck your cock literally, don’t make me do it metaphorically as well.”

“No, you don’t.”

Ray was Krieger’s true love, his best friend, his savior. He knew Ray wasn’t going to hurt him. But suddenly, he was back to being the destitute doctor, scrubbing the green marks from his fake silver chain off of his neck, the filthy eavesdropper, ear pressed to Ray’s door in an attempt to hear a murder. And Ray was back to being the epitome of mystery, larger-than-life, stroking his face teasingly, letting him wonder whether he was about to kiss him or slit his throat. Ray was more powerful than Krieger then, and despite Krieger’s status as a fellow vampire, still had the upper hand by a longshot.

In short, when Ray turned and looked down at him from his place upon the stairs, a bolt of fear and uncertainty passed through Krieger.

“I’m sorry.”

Ray didn’t respond. He slowly turned and left the basement, slamming the door behind him.

Krieger sat there for a minute, waiting for the adrenaline to stop coursing through his heart like boiling venom. The man was beginning to stir, so Krieger snapped his neck and headed upstairs.

He knocked on Ryan and Ari’s door. At first, no one responded. His fist was raised to knock again when the door opened. Ryan slipped into the hallway.

“He’s a light sleeper.”

“I know that. He’s my brother.”

Ryan nodded. “So, what is it?”

“I have a kill downstairs, if you’d like to join me.”

Ryan looked hesitant.

“And Ray.”

“That would be amazing. I haven’t had much time to hunt, myself, lately…”

“Yeah, you’re looking a little wan.”

Ryan blinked.

“You know, pallid. Worse-for-wear.”

“I know what it means,” he lied. Well, a half-truth: he knew what “wan” meant, but only because Krieger had just told him.

It was probably prudent not to barge in on Ray when he was in a mood, but he’d rather face the wrath than knock on his own bedroom door in front of Ryan. So, he entered, shutting the door behind him.

Ray was nowhere to be seen, but there was light coming from the closet. Quietly, Krieger crept in.

“Baby…?”

Ray didn’t respond. He was going through his racks and racks of clothes, occasionally pulling something out and tossing it onto the chair behind him.

“Ryan and I are about to eat.”

He hummed.

“Are you coming?”

“I’m not hungry.”

Krieger stood there, staring.

“You two had better get down there, though. I can smell him from here.”

“Who, Ryan?” Krieger tried to isolate the scent Ray was referring to. Though they were equally matched when it came to things like hearing and sense of smell, Krieger still had issues separating and identifying what was what.

“The body.”

Downstairs, Krieger fed first. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was until he began drinking the hot blood. When he was done, he wiped his mouth, and left, silently. No need to drag out the torture.

Even after Krieger showered and settled down for bed, Ray remained in the closet. Each man was waiting for the other to break the ice, but neither did, so the frost only grew thicker as Ray continued organizing his clothes, and Krieger drifted into a dreamless sleep.

 

 _You're strong. You're gorgeous. You're the sexy,_ Ari told himself. _You've been through worse. You can do this. Just stop thinking about it. Don't think about it, don't think about it, don't -_

And just like that, he'd slipped a bite of dumpling in his mouth, and was chewing rapidly.

“How is it?” asked Ray.

“I forgot to taste it.” He took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. “Oh, wow.”

“You like it?”

“That is way too good to be Kosher. Can I have another?”

“Not until everyone has had one!”

They were tasting prospective menu items for the party, which was now only a week away. Upon the table were many dishes. Made by Poovey was some lemon thyme chicken, ladyfingers, tea sandwiches, fried goat cheese, Swedish meatballs, stuffed shells, antipasta, and brie and cranberry tartlets. Poovey’s friend, Kelly, who had just moved from San Francisco - or, that was the story - prepared lamb dumplings, _cong you bing_ (scallion pancakes), and greens with oyster sauce. Arnold was supposed to prepare something German - he had the most cooking experience of the three brothers - but got caught up helping Kelly (who didn’t mind). Aaron ended up taking over, and made a decent batch Schnitzel. He threw together a few blintzes while he was in there, only to discover that Ray had never tried them before. Between the brothers and their host, the blintzes never made it to the table. Ray himself only made some flamiche. He was a proficient cook, but not of elegant entrees or hors d'oeuvres. His specialty was comfort food, though you’d never know by his physique. In times of stress he could be found preparing a hearty batch of _gratin dauphinois,_ or in particularly dire circumstances, _aligot_.

“What do _you_ think?” asked Kelly.

Arnold blushed, as he tended to do when she looked at him. “They’re wonderful!”

Kelly chuckled. “Your accent…”

“I - sorry, I know my English isn’t so - ”

“I like it.”

“Oh…”

Everyone jumped and looked away when Arnold turned toward them; they’d been staring.

Ray turned to Krieger. “I never knew you could cook.”

“Really?”

 _“Non._ I knew you could _eat,_ of course…”

“Ah, shut up.”

“Have you tried the _Flamiche?”_

“I have.”

Ray quirked an eyebrow.

“Eh.... _Délicieux_.”

“Ah, _mon loulou, c'était magnifique!”_

“I love it when you get all French.”

“But _mon cher,_ I’m always French.”

“Then, I guess I love you.”

They kissed, unaware that Ari was staring. Ryan nudged him.

“They’re cute, aren’t they?”

 _“Ja,_ ” said Ari, “But I just can’t get over it.”

“Over what, honey?”

“I never had any idea that Aaron was a homosexual.”

Ryan watched Aaron flick his tongue out, tickling Ray’s mustache. “Well, you’re not so great with the subtle hints, honey lamb.”

“He had female lovers. Many, in fact.”

“So, he likes a little bit of both.”

Ari shook his head. “I had no clue.”

After taking notes (including a complicated series of polls, assessing everyone’s opinions), Ray dismissed the gathering, and everyone dispersed. Ryan and Ari headed out to the yard - it was a beautiful morning, about 11 A.M. - while Kelly and Arnold remained at the table, blissfully unaware of everyone else.

Meanwhile, Ray and Aaron went off to bed.

Ray was feeling good, very good. He’d assemble the menu tomorrow, and put in an order for the ingredients. And he already had wine pairings picked out. Perfect.

But, almost even more than this, he was wonderfully excited by the newfound knowledge he’d acquired: Krieger could cook.

Ray had gotten a peek, just a glimpse, but it was haunting him. The sight of Krieger, sleeves rolled up, tie tucked into his shirt, sweating just a bit, and flush due to the stove’s steady heat. Then - _Dieu aide moi_ \- he stuck his finger in the bowl of filling and took a taste, savoring the sweetness. That’s when he glanced up and noticed Ray. With a smirk, he held a finger to his lips.

_“Our little secret.”_

Now, on the stairs beside his lover, Ray was thinking, _Control yourself. Control yourself. Control yourself._

But then, he wondered, _why?_ There was no one around. And, Hell, if there were, it was his damn house.

Maybe he’d push him. For a moment, Krieger would think he’d tripped and fallen. Until Ray rolled him over and kissed him, though it would be less of a kiss and more of a lick to his lips.

Krieger would protest, at first, thinking of his brothers. “Are we really - ”

“I’m sorry _mon cher,”_ He’d say, as he worked both his and Krieger’s shirts off with expert hands. “I just can’t wait another second.”

_“Gott im himmel.”_

Then, to spare their backs, they’d crawl up a few steps onto the landing and have sex right there in the middle of the twisted staircase. Ray’s legs would be curled around Krieger, and he would hardly remove his face from the crook of Krieger’s neck the entire time, and they’d have a hot, needy fuck. Krieger would attempt to stay quiet, but that was impossible. He could never help his whimpers. Ray, of course, hardly minded. In fact, he relished the knowledge that Krieger couldn’t keep quiet, even with the distinct possibility that someone would hear.

But then, Germans were raunchy, ribald voyeurs and freaks. Aaron, in particular, was a man with pure lechery coursing through his veins, Ray knew this for a fact. After all, he’d tasted it.

He’d just begun to imagine a pause in the scene, one where Krieger rested his whole weight on Ray, panting in his ear, and whispered, “Shhh…” because suddenly, there was a burst of voices and footsteps in the foyer. When Ray gazed up at him, looking like he was about to say something, Krieger would shove three fingers into his mouth and whisper (in a gruff voice, with a pronounced accent; in other words, his sex voice): “Don’t you fucking dare.”

It was then that the real Krieger spoke.

“I’m glad we have that attached bathroom.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I only have to walk, like, eight feet from bed to the toilet. Which is great news, because I feel like I’m about to give birth.”

Ray pursed his lips. “Light a candle, won’t you?”

“You got it.”

 

It was the day before the party. Krieger was standing in their closet, being poked and prodded by Ray.

“Do you like it?”

_“Ja.”_

“Really?” He circled Krieger, surveying his outfit: a black suit, with a shoulder-padded jacket, red waistcoat, and gunmetal cufflinks. It was alright, but as much as he tried, Ray couldn’t get it just right.

“Pretend you hate it,” said Ray. “Then I’ll know how I really feel.”

“Oh, I hate it. I look like a - a priest who only passed the seminary because I sucked the headmaster’s dick.”

“You’re right.”

“Um!”

Ray began peeling layers off, until Krieger was standing there in just his pants. As Ray rummaged through the racks of clothes, there was a knock on the bedroom door.

“Come in,” called Krieger. “We’re in the walk-in.”

“Like, the refrigerator?” said Ari, entering with Arnold in tow.

“It’s another word for a big closet.”

“No, I think it means refrigerator.”

“It - ”

“Anyway, look!” He held up a little piece of paper. “Arnold collected the mail today, and there was something from Abelard!”

Krieger’s stomach jumped. “Oh?”

“Do you want to hear it?”

Ray tried to slip a cashmere sweater onto Krieger, but his shoulders were too broad.

Since Krieger didn’t reply, Ari decided to just read the postcard. In German, he said:

 

“Hello, brothers. I’m making better time than I thought I would. I can say with confidence that I will be there by the 16th of August. I will call once I am close enough to look up your address in the phone book. I hope you answer. I have a chilling fear that I will arrive only to find that you’ve moved away. I miss, miss, miss you. Abeldard.”

 

Ari looked up, grinning.

“Oh, he’s in for a surprise alright!” said Arnold.

“Ah, yes, that’s me!” said Krieger, woozy with dread. Ray draped a fox fur around his neck and stepped back to observe. “I’m not going shirtless with a fox fur stole, _Liebe.”_

“How about mink?”

“I must insist on a shirt.” He turned away from the mirror and held his hand out to Ari. “Give me that letter.”

The front of the postcard was emblazoned with a photo of the Grand Canyon. Krieger tried to summon his meager knowledge of American geography, but he had no idea how near or far that was. All he knew was the looming date, August 16th. It was already July 30th.

Ray was now slipping a white dress shirt onto Krieger’s torso.

He took a deep breath and turned the card over. A tiny whimper escaped him. The handwriting was, of course, Abelard’s scrawl, tall and thin, so dissimilar to his own long, stretched writing. But what really made his spine tingle was the signature. _I miss, miss, miss you. Abelard._

The proof was right there, but this couldn’t be true. It couldn’t. He knew for an absolute fact that his brother was dead.

 _“Mon cher,_ what do you think?”

“Great, honey.”

“You didn’t even look!”

Krieger glanced in the mirror and did a double-take. Ray had him in fitted black pants, a rich yellow cummerbund, and a simple white dress shirt. Ray had rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, and left the top three buttons undone, exposing a thin golden chain. His arms and chest were hairy, and Ray was, to Krieger’s surprise, embracing it.

“I…What do you guys think?”

“The sexy!” said Ari.

Arnold thought for a moment. “I think you look like _ein Idiot,_ but you always do.”

“Ah, shut up.” From Arnold, this was highly complimentary.

“So, you like it?” Ray was biting his lip, still looking Krieger up and down from various angles.

“I love it! But it’s a black tie event, are you okay with something so...Controversial?”

“Oh, _mon cher,_ you should see what _I’m_ wearing.”

“And me!” Ari piped up. At Krieger’s sideways look, he clarified, “Ray helped me pick it out.”

“I most certainly did.” He cupped Ari’s face in his hands. “Now, off to bed, _mon loulou.”_

“At nine?”

“I want you fresh and gorgeous tomorrow.” He gave Ari a little slap on the cheek, as he tended to do. _“Gute Nacht,_ I believe.”

_“Bonne nuit.”_

Ray smiled coyly, as he always did when someone spoke butchered French for his benefit.

When the boys left, Ray turned to Krieger.

“So…”

“I told you, it’s fine!” Aaron snapped, and stepped down from the pedestal.

“I was going to ask what you thought of that letter.”

“Oh.” He looked in the mirror again, imagining it was Abelard standing before him. It didn’t work. Although Abelard’s face was his face, he found that he couldn’t for the life of him remember what his twin looked like. Because, he realized, it was more than just eyes, a nose, and a mouth. It was his other half, his complement. For every hill and valley of his own essence, Abelard had an opposite that filled in the cracks, like two perfect puzzle pieces. Abelard was his eyes when he was blind, and he was Abelard’s ears when he was deaf.

If Abelard was even coming - which he highly doubted; he’d felt his brother die, and could still feel the lifeless frostbite if he concentrated - Aaron found himself gripped with terror that the pieces wouldn’t fit together anymore.

_“Mon caneton?”_

“I…” He buried his face in his hands. Instantly, Ray was by his side, hands upon his shoulders, nuzzling and cooing little comfort-phrases.

Aaron drank in the affection like it was life-saving elixir.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, _mon petit canard,_ everything is going to be just fine.”

Suddenly, Krieger pulled Ray into a kiss. They didn’t stop kissing, even as Krieger lifted Ray off the ground and carried him to bed, until Ray let out a little squeak.

“What is it?”

“Get those clothes off!”

“You don’t need to tell me twice.”

“I’m serious. Hang them so they don’t wrinkle, won’t you?”

Krieger nodded. He’d never stripped as fast as he did right then.

When he returned to bed, Ray was naked, too, and smiling. He held out his hand, and without touching, the bedside drawer opened, and a bottle of lube landed in his waiting palm. They resumed kissing, less desperately, now. Ray ran his hands across Krieger’s chest, combing through the layer of hair. Ray himself kept his body hair to a minimum (pretty much just his mustache), but _loved_ Krieger’s. He had hair on his arms, his chest, and a little happy trail, leading down his belly into dark curls. His body had a good balance of masculine hairiness without being too long, limp, or gross. All in all, the doctor was quite a tasty treat.

Krieger, meanwhile, was appreciating Ray’s body. He was like a Greek statue: toned muscles, wavy hair, gorgeous figure...He’d be totally arousing even if he was a complete idiot, but as it was, Ray was intelligent, knowledgeable about history and literature, fashion and food, and everything in between, without being a snob - in fact, he had a wonderfully diverse sense of humor. He was probably the most ravish-able man Krieger had ever laid eyes on.

So, why wasn’t Krieger hard?

At first, neither man noticed, but once they did, it was a done deal. Now that he was consciously trying, feeling the pressure, it was pretty much impossible.

It was almost fifteen minutes later when Kriger groaned and broke the kiss.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry!”

“I want to fuck you so bad.”

“It’s alright, _mon cher.”_

“Let me suck your cock, at least?”

“Sure.”

Krieger did so, but even the sight of Ray writhing under his touch, pulling his hair, moaning so sweetly, didn’t break the barrier. His blood was boiling with desire, but his stress just wouldn't allow it.

When he finished, he rose back up to kiss Ray.

“That’s my favorite part.”

“What is, Aaron?”

“When we kiss, and you taste yourself.”

Ray hummed blissfully. _“Vilain garçon.”_ Naughty boy.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t, um…”

Ray’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I forgot! In case of emergency...” He pulled Krieger in, though it wasn’t for a kiss. He mouthed Krieger’s neck, flicking the bite marks with his tongue. It was nothing special, but it significantly reduced his frustration. And, hell, an orgasm’s an orgasm.

Although, Krieger thought, Ray was right. It wasn’t particularly satisfying. More of a cheap trick than anything else.

“Do you feel any better?”

 _“Ja.”_ The stress was building in his belly again. “I’ll be fine.”


	8. The Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry a long time went by between uploads, but i like to have the next couple chapters written before I upload one. This chapter has actually been written since before i began uploading this fic, but I've had a lot going on lately and didnt want to write while distracted - this fic is my baby lol. Enjoy :) things get juicy

Krieger had long since gotten used to his lack of breathing and heart rate, but hadn't realized the benefits of this condition until Ray invited him to join his morning exercise. He sat at the bottom of the pool, looking up through eight feet of shimmering blue water at Ray, who shot back and forth through like a bullet. The sunset shone through the huge windows, glinting on the surface. Krieger’s spot at the bottom was untouched by the pink light, allowing him to remain concealed by freezing, sapphire shadow. 

When he noticed Ray climb out of the pool, he closed his eyes and let himself float to the top.

“Just in time,  _ mon poisson. _ It’s time to get washed and dressed.” Ray was sauntering across the room toward his towel. Krieger, who was at the edge of the pool, leaned on his hand and watched Ray dry off: He bent over to dry his legs, swung the towel behind him to reach his back, and finally mussed his hair, shaking his head like a dog. To Krieger, it was like pornography, especially since Ray had no idea he was being stared at.

He did notice, eventually, however. With a wry look, he said, “I’m serious!” but both men knew he was just short of smiling.

Krieger dried himself and followed Ray into the house. Before going upstairs, Ray poked his head into every room, making sure it was clean and ready to be decorated. Servants were bustling about with sponges and soaps and oils, shining every surface within an inch of its life. Still more servants were close behind, with tablecloths, coasters, and freshly-clipped flowers in crystal vases, dressing the house.

The party didn’t start until eight, but they began getting ready at five, anyway. 

Well, Ray did.

While his lover was in the shower, Krieger slipped his robe on and decided to check how progress was going in the kitchen. 

Poovey was in charge, and therefore Krieger had free reign to sample anything and everything he desired. Wading through a symphony of scents, he'd worked his way through a bite each of figs with chile, shredded asparagus and ricotta on tiny toast, lobster and espelette pepper tartlets, and spiced olives, when he came upon sesame-coated shrimp toast. He reached out for a bite, only to be met with a slap on the hand. When he looked up, ready to protest, he saw it was only Kelly, and his indignance disappeared; he quite liked her.

“It’s not time to eat!” she chided. Krieger noticed she was already dressed for the party, in a green, embroidered dress. She was of fuller figure than most, but didn’t seem afraid of that fact: the dress hugged her closely, but tastefully, except in the sleeves, which were very loose.

“Are you sure, because I could eat you with a -  ”

“Don’t you dare!” She feigned anger, but as usual, she was smiling. Her eyes were crescent moons behind her glasses.

“Since when do you make the rules in  _ my  _ kitchen?”

“Since I’m the one who made the food. This isn’t even for the party, it’s my lunch.”

“Seventy-five miniature shrimp toasts at five o'clock at night?”

“Yes. Besides, I thought you kept Kosher?”

“I do my best.  _ Arnold _ keeps Kosher, but I’m sure you knew that…”

Her smile only widened. The two of them had been on a date - only one, so far, but it was a decent one, or so Krieger heard.

“Did I hear my name?”

The two turned to see Arnold wrestling his way through the crowd of cooks and waiters. 

“I’ll take my leave,” said Krieger. “See you later.”

Kelly winked. 

Arnold - who was looking rather shabby, having just returned from work - was surprised to see Kelly.

“Oh!”

“Oh to you, too.”

He merely smiled, taking in her appearance. “So, tell me if I’m mistaken.”

“I will.”

“Irish first name, Chinese last name, Japanese dress.”

“And what about it?”

“You’re really something, is all.”

“I’m a lot of things.” She didn’t know what it meant, but it sounded good. Arnold seemed to agree, for he didn’t respond, though his cheeks grew a bit rosier.

  


Krieger fully expected Ray to groom him, as he usually did when there was company. He’d been growing his beard for a week, and was prepared to trim it cleanly, and to slick his hair back the way Ray liked it, but when he stepped out of the shower, Ray intercepted him.

“I think you should leave it curly,” he said, “And keep the, um…” He made little scratching gestures with his hand.

“Scruff?”

_ “Oui.” _

“...Really?”

“Only if you want.”

“I think that’s a fine idea.”

Ray smiled shyly, which he almost never did. 

“What’s that face for?”

“I have a present for you.”

“Oh?”

From the pocket of his robe, he extracted a tiny black box.

“Babydoll, you’ve gotta stop spending money.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Grinning, Krieger opened the box. He felt all the cogs and gears in his brain grind to a halt.

Inside was a gold pendant, no bigger than his fingernail. It was round, with a star of David in relief at the center, and Hebrew carved around the outer edge. Precisely like the silver one he’d had to give up since his turning.

“For your new chain,” Ray clarified.

_ “Ja…” _

“Do you like it?”

“I love it. I love you.” He reached for the thin chain and strung the necklace around his neck.

“I love you, too,  _ mon cher.  _ Now get dressed, the band will get here any minute; you remember where to put them?”

“West dining room.”

“East, Aaron, they go in the  _ East - ” _

“Joking, I was joking!” He kissed Ray’s nose.

“And send Ari up here, won’t you?”

Krieger groaned. He hated knocking on his brother’s door; his heightened sense of hearing quickly became a curse when approaching Ari and Ryan’s chambers.

Nevertheless, he put on his outfit from the night before (with the addition of his new yet familiar necklace) and stopped by Ari’s room on the way downstairs.

Ari was in a bad mood when he opened the door.

_ “Was?” _

“What’s your problem?”

Ari began flapping a hand absentmindedly. “My schedule is completely and utterly destroyed. I don’t know if I’ll ever recover.”

“You’ll live.”

“I’m really not sure.”

“Ray wants you.”

Ari’s eyes lit up. “Is it time to get dressed?”

“Well, the party starts in, like, an hour, so…”   
Ari bypassed Krieger and bounded upstairs. God help the force that stood in the way of Ari and clothes.

  


“Where’s Lana?” Krieger asked, surveying the band. Was he crazy, or was there an extra person?

“She’s invited,” said one, “As, like. A guest.”

A moment of silence, then Krieger cleared his throat and said, “Well, who’s singing?”

“That’d be me,” said the tallest man. He held out his hand. “Lennox Little.”

Krieger shook his hand and nodded approvingly. “‘Lennox’...isn’t that Biblical?”

“Shakespearean.”

“My mistake.”

“I won’t hold it against you.”

Krieger smiled. He wasn’t sure if, after all this time, he was more sociable than he'd realized, or if he just happened to be surrounded by extremely charming people these days. At any rate, he led the boys to the dining room to set up their instruments.

The dining room that Krieger and Ray shared in their first weeks together was a long room with huge mahogany table, a fireplace taller than Krieger, and countless bronze sconces on the wall, giving the the room an intimate, dim light. At the time, it was the grandest room Krieger had ever seen.

Until he became familiar with the East dining room.

The focal point of the party, the East dining room could fit about twelve of the miles-long tables in the West one. Tonight, nearly twenty round tables were scattered throughout the room, along with still more high-top ones, where people could stand and drink as they picked at the finger food. Each table was adorned with candles in little glass jars. The center was cleared out and would serve as a dance floor, over which hung a chandelier the size of a small airplane. The ceiling was so high that it made Krieger dizzy to look up at, yet he could touch the chandelier with his fingertips if he stood atop one of the tables and reached. Of course, he would never; getting crushed beneath a hundred and fifty pounds of hot crystal was not how he wanted to go. 

In one corner of the room, a platform had been erected for the band. In the other, a full bar had been set up. A man Krieger didn’t recognize (but was clearly the bartender for the evening) was dumping ice from a small bucket into a huge vat.

He bumped into Arnold in the hallway.

“Hey, I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

“Are you alright?”

_ “Ja, ja,  _ just…”

“What’s wrong?”

He pointed down the long hallway. It had been bustling all day, but now, quite suddenly, it was empty. Everyone was at their appropriate stations.

“Look outside!” said Arnold.

Krieger heard the voices before he got anywhere near the window. When he parted the curtain, he discovered a veritable hoard of people outside, parking cars, milling about, chatting, waiting for the party to begin.

“Should we open the door?” said Arnold.

“Don’t you  _ dare _ touch that door!” a voice called from the staircase. The brothers turned. Ari and Ray were descending the steps, and the latter was speaking. “When Ray Gillette says eight o’clock, anyone who’s anyone knows that means eight-fifteen.”

Krieger didn’t respond; he was busy taking in Ray’s appearance. His hair wasn’t concealed by a turban or any other headwear this evening. It was styled into a little curl at the front, and shone like spun gold. He was wearing a conservative (or, it would be if he was a woman) white blouse with puffed sleeves, red slacks, and black heels. No makeup adorned his face, except some lipstick, though not what one would expect: his pale lips were not made up, but there was a red kiss mark on his mouth, skewed to one side so it only overlapped halfway. As Ray drew closer, Krieger noticed another cherry-colored mark on  Ray’s cheek, another on his throat, and a few more upon the collar of his blouse. 

Ari, right behind Ray, was wearing (besides black pants, a familiar black shawl, and a long string of pearls) some pristinely-applied red lipstick.

“Um,” said Aaron, pulling Ray into a hug, “What went on up there?”

“Don't worry,  _ mon cher, _ he kissed my collar before I even put it on, all for the aesthetic.”

“And your lips?”

“I painted those on myself. Doesn’t it look natural?”

“A little  _ too _ natural.” He kissed the half of Ray’s mouth that was without lipstick. “You’re so gorgeous.”

Ari cleared his throat. Aaron turned to him. 

“And you - ” The words stopped in his throat. Up close, Krieger saw that he was wearing not only the lipstick, but some mascara, and just a touch of blush. None of this bothered him, inherently, but his next words came out rather strangled. 

“You look just like  _ Mama.” _

_ “Scheisse,” _ said Arnold.

“Doesn’t he?”

_ “Ja.  _ Almost exactly.”

Ari was looking back and forth between them. “Well,  _ Mama _ had green eyes, like Aaron and - ”

“Babydoll, how much longer?” Krieger interrupted. 

Ray looked at the grandfather clock. “Eight-fifteen exactly.” He inhaled deeply and headed for the door. “Everyone ready?”

“I think so, gorgeous.”

“Come here. Stand next to me.”

Aaron obeyed, giving Ray one last kiss on the cheek before he threw open the doors, stepped out onto the huge porch, and called,  _ “Bienvenue! Bonsoir, mes amis!” _

The guests cheered and began climbing the steps. They didn't know it, yet, but they were in for a lovely evening. Nothing like the one their hosts were going to have.

  


Greeting the guests took a long time, for a large percentage of the partygoers were vampires and needed to be invited inside individually.

These guests were Krieger's favorites. They dressed provocatively - not in clothes that were necessarily revealing, but simply outrageous. Puffy shirts, gothic makeup, a hell of a lot of gold, and, Krieger noticed, a lot of couples like himself and Ray: that is, gay ones.

Krieger had just finished greeting a lovely couple when a strong scent hit him. He couldn't place it, at first, but after a pause he realized it was almost exactly the smell of rain and mud. It wasn't human - they all shared more or less the same plain odor of copper. He turned and was surprised to find that it was Lana.

“Hello, again,” she said, over Ray's shoulder. (He'd bundled her into an intense hug.)

“Hello. I didn't know you were a…”

Ray turned to him, shocked.  _ “Mon cher, _ she's the queen!”

“I...didn't know we had one.”

Lana rolled her eyes. “He's just being dramatic.”

“Only because I love you so! Go, sit down, find us a good table, won't you?”

She sauntered away as if on stage, effortlessly wearing her beaded black gown. 

As they shook hands with the next group, Krieger muttered, “You've known each other for awhile?”

“Since the beginning!”

Ray's sunny manner disappeared almost instantly at the sight of their next guests. 

_ “Madame  _ Archer.” Polite, but nothing more. 

“Wonderful to see you,  _ Monsieur.” _ She nodded to Krieger as she stepped over the threshold, uninvited.  _ “Docteur.” _

The younger Archer - also human - merely nodded at Ray, pressing a bottle of red wine into his hands. 

"That's for you."

_ “Je vous remercie.” _

“No problem.” He winked at Krieger, and leaned in while they shook hands. “I stole it from the bar, anyway.”

Krieger smirked. “Well, it's his bar, so...no harm done.”

“Well,” he glanced at his mother. “Half harm done.”

  


Krieger, Ray, Lana, and the young Archer shared a table in the corner, though the latter guest wasn't exactly welcome; he saw Lana sitting there, planted himself next to her, and wouldn't leave. After a few minutes, however, Lana and Ray didn't even notice he was there. They'd retreated into their own conversation. Krieger, who didn't mind the task of entertaining Archer, kept an eye on them, and didn't care for what he saw.

It was, in his opinion, entirely inappropriate. Ray had his legs slung over Lana's lap, and his mouth was so disturbingly close to her ear that she must have heard every one of the numerous sips of white wine he took over the course of the conversation. They were, of course, communicating solely in French, exacerbating Krieger's dissatisfaction. He wanted to know what they were discussing, over wine, with such coy expressions, but he was shut out despite being right next to Ray. When Lana tipped her glass into Ray's mouth (she was drinking a Tom Collins, and Ray wanted to make sure the bartender was decent), Krieger made the decision to interrupt.

“So, baby, you two have known each other since...way back?”

Ray removed his legs from Lana's lap and sat properly, so his back wouldn't be to Krieger.

“You may speak freely,  _ mon cher,  _ little Archer knows all there is to know. About this topic, anyway.”

“Alright...how long have you known each other, exactly?”

“Since eighteen...Oh, I'm dreadful.”

“It must've been eighteen twenty-five, I think,” said Lana.

Krieger's stomach felt like home to a restless little bird, the excited feeling he always got when Ray talked about ages long past as if they were just a few years ago.

“And how did you meet?”

“Lana put a scent out - a spell, you know - to attract a friend. She'd just moved to France, you see, and needed a companion.”

“And she stumbled across your mansion, like I did?”

Ray stared for a moment, then burst into laughter. Heat rose around Krieger's collar. While Ray recalled something to Lana (in French, again), Krieger sucked down a gulp of his martini. Archer was watching the conversation like a tennis match.

“I don't quite get the joke,” said Krieger.

_ “Pardon, ma chérie!”  _ He straightened out again. “I had nothing when I met Lana. Absolutely nothing. I was working as a musician, a trumpet player at a nightclub (I don't remember a single note, so don't ask), and one evening she wandered in looking for work. Love at first sight!”

“Oh?” The heat was travelling up to his ears.

_ “Oui!” _ He kissed Lana's ear.

“You must've been fast friends since you were both vampires.”

_ “Non, non, _ she made me!”

“Hm?”

“She turned me,  _ mon caneton.” _

“Oh, shit!” He made eye contact with Lana for the first time in hours. Her gaze was as unbothered as ever.

_ “Oui.  _ It was one of the most  _ érotique  _ nights of my entire life.”

Krieger hummed. “It's a wonderful feeling, once you wake up from dying.”

“Especially when it's sex that kills you.”

Krieger blinked. “I don't quite follow.”

Ray plucked another glass of white wine from the passing waiter's tray. “Lana is such an intense lover, I was dizzy for days.”

“I don't get it.”

“We fucked, sweetheart,” said Lana.

“But I thought Ray...Ray, I thought you were…”

“Oh, I am! But  _ mon cher…”  _ He leaned back and gestured at Lana's body. “It would be a sin to refuse!”

“I thought you didn't like women.”

“It's not a dislike of women, it's a love of men. But Lana is a work of art.”

“With a…”

Lana tipped her glass to him. “Wise choice, not finishing that sentence.”

“Mm-hmm.” Previously, he'd taken a liking to Lana, but simply didn't care for their flirtations. Now, he found her manner arrogant, and Ray's gushing pathetic. Jealousy was churning hot in his throat. 

“Doc,” Archer finally piped up, “Let's get another martini in you.”

Krieger downed the one in front of him and, still peering at Lana, asked “What time is it?”

“A quarter after ten.”

“Not too early for shots?”

“Oh, doc, in America, shots start at noon!”

Ray was staring tight-lipped. “I'm not sure that's a good idea.”

“Why, because it's with Archer?” The man in question was already halfway across the room.

In a rigidly-calculated breezy tone, Ray replied, “Because your lips are rather loose, darling, as they always are around company.”

“Well, maybe a drink will help me get my mind off things.  _ Sweetheart.” _

“I fear that you'll grow belligerent, as you tend to do... _ Mon canard.” _

“Then perhaps I'll just avoid you for the night,  _ gorgeous.” _

Ray was suddenly up and gripping Krieger's arm. He reeled for a moment - he stood rather quickly, and he was on his third glass of wine - and leaned in. 

“Come with me, and don't protest.”

Krieger felt bruises pooling beneath his skin from Ray's grip. Such was the curse of being with a man of incredible strength. 

In the hall, Ray released Krieger as if he'd been burned.

“Why do you always do this?!”

“Do what?”

“Don't play with stupid!” He was trying to say “play dumb.” Ray's brow was creased into a hard line. “You get annoyed and rude and - and - ”

“Perhaps I don't find the tales of your sexcapades as delightful as you do!”

“Oh, get over this!  _ S'il vous plait! _ I've had sex besides you, why does that bother you so? Surely you weren't a virgin before I came along?”

“Of course not.”

“Then, for the love of everything good, just leave it alone!”

“I don't keep  _ my _ exes around!”

“They're not ex-lovers, they're my friends.”

“Since when are you even into women?”

Ray pointed at Krieger's chest. “Oh, I'm warning you…”

“Seriously! I absolutely cannot visualize - ”

“Then don't.” His voice was a growl, now, and he was chest-to-chest with Krieger. “I owe everything to Lana. And so do you.”

“I owe you, I'll admit that, but I don't owe  _ her _ a damn thing.”

“Ha!” It was a humorless laugh. “Her power is a sorcery I can't define. She can't make things move, like I do, but she attracts things. If she wants a lover, one will fall into her lap and beg. If she's hungry, a delivery man, bearing heaps of the American food will stumble onto her doorstep, lost on the way to his catering.”

“So?”

“So...I can use my power and cause a cigarette to fly into your mouth, can't I? She used her powers for me.”

“So, what?”

_ “So, _ Ryan is so gorgeous I want to cry, but what we had wasn't love. Not romantic, anyway. I'd tried for years to find a man, and yet he was as close as I'd gotten. She came here, and put a spell on me. Suddenly, like a magnet, I would attract the man of my dreams. Someone trustworthy, someone loyal, someone who would be mine as long as he lived, someone with a golden heart. A heart I could sink my teeth into.”

“...So?”

“So, that's you, you dumb  _ canard!” _

“Oh. Shit.”

“You never wondered why I did not simply eat you? Or why I trusted you enough to turn you so quickly? Or why this house rose up from the ground before you?”

“No, I…I'm a dumb  _ canard.” _

“Oh! Does nothing move you? Can nothing strike emotion into your heart?”

“Those are really high expectations.”

“But that's just it, my sweet. The spell chose you: you have those qualities, inherently, already. So don't worry about fulfilling them.”

“Oh, I'm not.”

Ray ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I hate you for doing this to me. You know how much I wanted tonight.”

“I need to process the fact that I'm...I'm your property! That my only value is, apparently, in relation to you!”

“Then go process. I won't deal with this tonight. There's two hundred guests lined up to suck my cock for letting them in this house, and I'm going to let them.” He didn't entertain another word from Krieger, striding back into the dining room with a dazzling fake smile.

  


Archer had been banned from the bar by the time Krieger got there, but he needed a shot now more than ever, and therefore took a seat without him. He ended up throwing back three, only to find they fed his agitation rather than soothe it. In fact, he almost went ballistic when he felt a strange elbow rub against his, but it was only Ryan. 

“Get away from me,” said Krieger.

“Get over yourself.”

“Excuse me?”

“Why do you always think you can talk to me like I'm nobody? Ray would flip his shit on you if I told him.”

“Then tell him.” He had another shot in front of him, and was gearing up.

“Are you guys fighting or something?”

“Yup, yup, yup.”

“Hm. Us, too - me and Ari.”

“He'll be fine.”

“No, we're both pretty pissed. I'm actually not sure there's an  _ us _ right now.”

“Shit.” Krieger found that, quite unexpectedly, being in the same sinking dinghy made Ryan much more sympathetic.

“Yeah, well. I've got an idea.”

“Oh? How's it feel?”

“How about we put aside our - ”

“Get to the idea.”

“Cocaine.”

“You've got some?!”

“If you'd have let me speak you'd know the answer. Which is yes.”

Krieger left the shot behind as they headed to the upstairs bathroom. Ryan was, to Krieger's surprise, a veritable pro when it came to the drug. It was mesmerizing watching him scrape the lines together with motions done countless times before.

“Ray once told me he did a line off a guy's cock,” said Krieger.

Ryan snorted with laughter, wasting some coke - he'd been in the middle of a line. “Yeah, that would be me.”

“Really?”

“Yup.” He straightened up and smiled. “God. All air smells like fresh air!”

Krieger took his turn. “Christ, it's been awhile for me," he grumbled, pinching his nose.

“Oh, this is gonna be fun. Wanna do a line off my - ”

“Only if you do the same to me!”

“Why, sure.”

To an unimpaired observer, it wasn't very sexy, each of them resting their cocks on the countertop while the other snorted powder off of it. But to them? Heaven, simply because they weren't supposed to be doing it. The appeal was the novelty of it all.

“I thought you'd be more impressed,” said Krieger. Ryan hadn't commented on his physique, which he found insulting. He wasn't going to break any world records, but he was certainly well-endowed, especially with the half-hardness he was maintaining.

“I owe you compliments, now? You're not very nice to me, you know.”

“I know.”

Ryan rolled his eyes and did the line. A minute later, he asked, “Why is that, by the way?”

“Why's what?”

“Why are you so damn rude to me all the time?”

Krieger shook his head. “Let's not talk about this, now.” Neither of them appeared in the mirror before them. Krieger wondered how fucked up he looked right now.

“Would you put that thing away?”

_ “Scheisse. _ Sorry.” Krieger hadn't realized his pants were still undone. “I'm really horny.”

“It  _ has _ been awhile for you, hasn't it?”

“I haven't had my cock sucked since - ”

“I meant since the last time you did some coke!”

“Oh. It's been years; not since the war.”

Ryan nodded.

“Ray said you were in the war.”

“Uh-huh. Army.”

“I find it hard not to blame you.”

“For what?”

“For not intervening sooner. It's absolutely nonsensical, I know, but you're the epitome of America. Do you realize that?”

“I don't. Actually, I've been told that I violate every American value there is."

“But, I mean, your blonde hair, blue eyes, the…” He pointed to his own cheek, trying to say “dimples,” but gave up. “You're like a goddamn propaganda poster for the American dream. So, it's very easy for me to be frustrated with you, to blame you subconsciously, because the camps could have been liberated years sooner than they were. Not to mention the fact that I'm...possessive.”

“Of what?”

“You know.”

Ryan had a blank look on his face.

“Ray.”

“Oh. Fuck, that's not a good thing to be possessive of.”

Krieger looked down. “I know. Did you know Lana and he - ”

“The legendary incident of 1912?”

“Fuck, I was talking about the eighteen-hundreds!”

“Oh, the great castle-fuck of 1864?”

“Oh, suck my cock.”

“Not with that attitude.”

Krieger blinked.

“Were you serious?”

“I wasn't, but I am now.”

“Oh, my God," groaned Ryan. "You're all the same!"

“Come on, why not? You're gorgeous.”

“Propaganda-poster-gorgeous?”

“They don't put the ugly people on the posters.”

Ryan sighed. “You're so pathetic.”

“Great.”

“Drop your pants and don't talk to me.” He flipped the light switch off and double-checked that the door was locked.

“Why'd you bother to shut the light? We can both see clearly in the dark.”

“Principle,” he said. “Also for principle, we're using a prophylactic.”

He slipped the condom over Krieger's dick and began. It wasn't at all like Krieger expected. Ryan didn't have the seemingly endless supply of saliva that promiscuous men usually possessed, and his teeth scraped against him more than once, though luckily not the fangs.

Regardless, it was a good blowjob. Ryan certainly knew his way around, and had a few tricks. The most notable, in Krieger's opinion, was when Ryan spat on the skin where his balls met his dick, watched it drip slowly downward, and finally captured Krieger's balls in his mouth.

The most erotic thing about it had little to do with Ryan himself, however. As his orgasm drew closer, the molten dread in Krieger's stomach made waves, splashing through his heart and lungs, compelling him to take deep breaths just for the familiarity of the sensation. He felt alive. 

Ryan got to his feet and turned on the light the moment Krieger came.

“Am I supposed to pay you?” asked Krieger, cleaning himself haphazardly with toilet paper.

“I'm not a prostitute!”

“Could've fooled me.”

“God, what is your  _ problem?!”  _ Ryan spun Krieger (whose key elements were safely stowed in his pants) around. 

“Excuse me?”

“What have I done to you? I get that you're a control freak with Ray and everything, but seriously, what is your goddamn problem?” 

Krieger didn't respond. 

Ryan turned to the mirror and looked at his clothes in the reflection.

“I was in the war, y'know? I'm a fucking veteran. I wasn't at Normandy Beach, but I tried...Why do men treat me like this?” He put his hands over his face, feeling his expression. “All of them do this. I'm an abomination, I spit in the face of American morals, I make you sick to your stomach...But, still, you all want your dicks sucked. Why do I do it?”

“It's - ”

“Shut up. You're the worst of all of them - and I got pretty roughed up.”

“How so?”

“Because...Do you know what I should look like right now? I was twenty-three when he turned me. I've had three birthdays since. My eyes, my lips, they should be aging, but they're not. And they never will.” He took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “A beautiful man saw me, liked me, offered me a cushy version of the journalist job I'd always dreamed of, with the added bonus of sex whenever he wanted. Of course, I accepted. He was my ticket to happiness. In a lot of ways, I love him. You're the worst of all because you judge me for taking up his offer.”

Krieger crossed his arms.

“Well?”

“I have nothing to say.”

“Good. Great.” He was blinking fast, and his face was flush. “Ari never judged me.” 

“Oh, fuck.”

“What?”

“Ari.”

“What about him?”

“Um, you just sucked his brother’s cock!”

“You fucking asked me to! And besides, I think that’s over.”

“What if it’s not? What if you get back together?”

“What about it?!”

Aaron buried his face in his hands. He was humiliated. “I’m the worst brother ever.”

Ryan was unsympathetic. His own tears had disappeared. “Doctor Krieger.”

He raised his eyes.

“Pretty soon, you’re going to find that you don’t feel things the way normal people do. You’re going to stop feeling them in your mind and start tasting them on your tongue. And when you don’t have to worry about your gut being wrenched out of your body by emotions so strong you’re reeling, there’s a certain invincibility to it.”

“I  _ do _ feel things, though. I knew it was wrong, but I did it anyway.” His mind was simultaneously overly-alert and foggy.

“You didn’t do anything. I did all the work, and you let me.”

“Semantics.”

“Fine, maybe you’re a bad brother.”

It was that statement that caused Krieger’s big mistake. His blood was already searing his veins with guilt and remorse and vodka and coke, but now the shame turned to anger. His mind was too cloudy to see consequences. The tension gathered so suddenly and so intensely that all he could think to do was eliminate the source. 

So, he punched Ryan in the face.

“Fuck!” the blonde cried. He was on the ground - the force of the blow had thrown him backward.

A new tension was building, in Krieger’s stomach, now. He felt like throwing up as Ryan rose to his feet and spat into his hand.

One of his fangs landed in his palm, with a little pool of blood and spit.

“Are you fucking serious?” said Ryan. “Holy shit.”

“I’m - ”

Ryan lunged, and, with a crack, Krieger punched him again. He didn’t fall this time, but moved toward Krieger’s throat. The doctor grabbed him by the windpipe and tossed him to the floor like a ragdoll.

“I thought you were an army man,” said Krieger. “A soldier with superhuman strength, shouldn’t you be unstoppable?”

Ryan grinned a bloody grin. In a hoarse voice, he wheezed, “I have another power, too.” He squeezed his eyes shut.

At once, Krieger was overwhelmed with blinding pain. His eye socket burned, his mouth ached so intensely he felt a pulse in his gums, and his throat was on fire, not to mention his body, which felt spent and worn. But worst of all was his nose: he heard the sound of a twig breaking, and felt the bridge snap.

Meanwhile, Ryan’s black eye, split lip, and broken nose seemed to have disappeared. He rose to his feet effortlessly and kissed Krieger’s cheek. 

“You were right,” he said. “I  _ am _ unstoppable.”

It was then that Krieger really appreciated Ryan’s features, and how, with his dark brows, strong nose, blonde hair, and most of all, his snide smirk, he looked an awful lot like Ray.

The wounds, of course, healed only minutes later, but the fatigue of the fight didn’t go away. He sat on the bathroom floor for a long time, gathering his thoughts.

He knew, of course, that Ryan was right. He’d done nothing wrong, especially nothing to Krieger. 

But he'd done things to Ray. Images of Ray tied to a four-poster, riding Ryan's dick, and sucking him off danced through his head before he could stop them. Then, came pictures of Ray and Ryan kissing, showering together, falling asleep after a harrowing roleplay session. To his surprise, those were the ones that caused frustration to flood his mind. 

He realized, suddenly, that it wasn't the sex that bothered Krieger, but their history. Krieger was new, and unfamiliar, and very aware of that. He wanted to have history with Ray, to be the one who'd owned his heart for centuries, the one and only thing that remained constant throughout his long life. 

He buried his face in his hands, again. Why couldn't he have figured this out forty-five minutes ago?

  


A half hour later, he set out to find Ray. He finally tracked him down (a waiter directed him) to the drawing room at the end of the hall. Krieger entered without knocking, and was surprised at what he found.

Ray and Lana, along with Archer, and a man named Barry that Krieger met earlier, were seated around a circular table. The lights were dim except for the overhead lamp, which illuminated only the table itself. That’s when Krieger noticed the piles upon piles of money resting there, and that everyone was holding a hand of playing cards.

_ “Mon cher,”  _ said Ray, gesturing with his cigar. “Welcome to the party.”

Minutes later, Krieger was seated beside Ray. he’d been dealt in, and contributed twenty dollars. (He didn’t realize that in 72 years, this would be worth $229.) 

Ray poured him a glass of whiskey, though his head had begun to ache, so he didn't touch it.

Ray tended to win a lot, and was met with groans every time, to which he responded, “The house always wins!” Despite his arrogance, he put the entire stash on the line when it came time for bets.

Just past one o’clock, Archer put his cards down. 

“I’m sick of this,” he said.

“That’s fine,  _ canard, _ but I hope you realize that you forfeit all your bets."

Ray was sparkling, or it seemed so - evidently the cocaine made lovers even more lovely, to Krieger. 

“Whatever,” said Archer, though he picked his hand back up.

“I'm with Archer. Who cares about losing a couple hundred?” said Lana. “I say we make things interesting.”

“Interesting? What, like strip poker?” said Barry, looking Lana up and down.

“No, actually. You drive a Rolls Royce, don't you?”

Barry looked blank, while Ray had brightened considerably, or so it appeared - the cherry of his cigar was the only thing illuminating his face. 

“Keys,  _ mon cher, _ keys!”

“Oh, hell no!”

“Don't be a little baby! Look, I'll put up my winter home on New Smyrna Beach.” He grabbed a pad and pencil, wrote this down, and placed it in the middle of the table.

“No way.”

“How about this,” said Lana, taking the pad. “If Barry wins…” she read aloud as she wrote, “I will sleep with him.” With a flourish, she signed her signature, and tossed the page onto the pile.

“Fine. And if I lose…” He extracted his key from his pocket and set it down. “The Rolls.”

Ray was looking around with a predatory grin.  _ “Monsieur Archer, _ what do you wager?” 

“I don't really have anything of value.”

“You're a spry young man. Take a page from Lana's book.”

“Um, what if literally anyone but Lana wins?”

Lana herself laughed derisively and said, “If Lana wins, you're not getting any!”

Ray clarified, “It's about the knowledge, you sweet, innocent little thing. Knowing that you lost, and are subordinate to the victor. You don't _ really _ need to sleep with anyone.”

“I don't see  _ you _ putting it all on the line.”

Silently, Ray wrote another note on the pad and added it to the wagers. Krieger tried to swallow his resentment.

“Lana, deal.”

She nodded and proceeded to shuffle. Ray cut the deck, and from there, they constructed their hands.

Barry came in dead last with a pair. Ray, however, didn't win, either, though he thought he had - in his hand was four of a kind.

“Don't count your chickens before they hatch,  _ Liebe,”  _ said Krieger, revealing a straight flush.

_ “Mon Dieu!”  _ Ray was delighted. “You won! It's all yours!”

Before proceeding, Krieger picked up Barry's car key and handed it back to him - or, he tried.

“I don't want it.”

“Oh? Why not?”

Grimacing, Barry stood. “I don't accept gifts from strangers. It's yours. Thanks for having me.”

Ray stood as well, and gave Barry a kiss on both cheeks.  _ “Bonne nuit, mon amie.” _

Barry murmured something, to which Ray replied, “Oh, you're insufferable!”

From Barry's ghost of a smile, Krieger gleaned that they, too, had slept together at some point, but he wasn't sure. And, despite the burning feeling in his stomach, he told himself he didn't care.

He turned to Archer, who was staring at the money pile.

“I don't like that guy.”

Archer only hummed, and maintained his gaze.

“How much did you bet?” asked Krieger, reaching for a band.

“It's okay, honestly.”

“C'mon. I insist.”

“Fif - Sixty dollars.”

Krieger smirked. “Take a hundred.”

“No, come on - ”

“You need to remember that I don't need it.”

Archer looked up at the Tiffany lamp. “Oh. I guess not.”

“Not because of Ray. I'm a  _ doctor, _ they pay us pretty well, you know. Everyone seems to forget that.”

Archer took the money and slipped it into his pocket. “Thanks.”

“This, too.” Krieger slid the note -  _ Whomever wins gets the privilege of sleeping with me, Sterling Archer. This note is redeemable at any time. - _ across the table to him.

There was a beat. Then, Archer put his hat on, said goodnight, and left without taking the paper with him.

Krieger stared down at it. He didn't know why, but he put it in his pocket.

  


After counting the money (nearly $3,000), Krieger accompanied Ray to the dining room to bid goodnight. 

Eventually, after many cheek-kisses and hugs from Ray, and half-hearted nods from Krieger, the crowd had thinned out enough that Krieger could see his brothers for the first time that night. 

Arnold and Kelly were sharing a table across the room. At the center was a bucket of water - though originally, it was ice - and an empty bottle of champagne. Arnold had his arm around Kelly, whose hand was resting on his chest. He was whispering in her ear. Krieger used the techniques Ray taught him and focused on listening to their conversation.

“...I've always thought I'd enjoy that, but I never met anyone I felt comfortable enough to ask,” said Arnold.

“That's sweet! I think you're going to like it.”

“Oh, you think so?”

“Yes. You're very...tender.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Certainly. You're like a tiny little filet mignon for me to eat.”

“I'm nervous. I've never been fucked before.”

For a moment, Krieger was confused - he knew Arnold wasn't a virgin - until he realized what they were talking about. He quickly tuned out of the conversation.

Ari, meanwhile, was at a small table, fiddling with the edge of his shawl. Empty glasses cluttered the tabletop. Ryan was standing before him, hat in hand, though Ari wasn't looking at him. Krieger didn't want to know what they were discussing.

"So, babydoll,” said Krieger to Ray. “Was it everything you imagined and more?”

Ray gazed up at him. "Oh, it was wonderful. Thank you for behaving after all,  _ mon cher." _

Krieger's stomach twisted. “I love you.”

"I love you, too." Ray cuddled into his neck and muttered something in French. 

"Is that sexual?"

"Only if you're in the mood. You did win me, after all."

"About that - what if someone else had won?"

"Oh, I wouldn't have gone through with it. Like I told Archer, it's all talk."

Krieger nodded, reassured, but guiltier than ever. "How about we shower together?" He was smirking as best he could, and pulled Ray close despite the gnawing feeling in his gut. "A hot, steamy - "

Ray pecked him on the mouth and said, "Oh, please,  _ mon jouet!" _

  


Upstairs, Krieger sucked Ray's cock in the shower. The room was hazy with steam and various forms of impairment. Krieger didn't realize what he was doing - he was busy listening to Ray's moans bounce off of the cold tile - as he spat on the skin where Ray's balls met his dick, watched it drip slowly downward, and finally captured Ray's balls in his mouth.

A moan was cut off by a gasp. Ray grabbed Krieger by the hair and wrenched him off. Krieger fell backward onto the shower floor.

"What the fuck?!"

"Don't speak to me that way!" cried Ray, trembling. "You think I don't recognize my own whore's tricks?!"

"Fuck."

Ray shut the water. The sudden silence made the tension almost unbearable. Krieger remained sitting on the floor.

"When did you two…"

"Tonight."

Ray's eyes widened, but he remained silent.

"I'm sorry. I was drunk, we did some coke, we were - "

"So  _ that's _ why you missed dinner. But why would Ryan do that? He hates you." Ray's voice was barely above a whisper, carefully controlled.

"I don't know. I'm sorry."

Ray gasped. "How could you do this to your  _ brother?!" _

"They're not together anymore."

"Why not?"

"He didn't say."

Ray sighed, but it didn't seem to absolve any of his tension.

"I'm sorry."

"Stop fucking apologizing." He ran a hand through his wet hair. Despite the circumstances, something in Krieger stirred: Ray was, without a doubt, the sexiest creature on the planet.

"Alright."

"Well, I finally know how you feel." Rage seethed from every word.

"No,  _ Liebe, _ I - "

"You know, that's not what he's even for, you  _ roi des cons!" _

"I - "

"When one has a partner  _ and _ a whore, there are rules. The first rule: never in the couple's bed." He looked at Krieger expectantly.

"We were in a bathroom. He sucked me off, but that's all that happened."

"The second rule: don't kiss after you've both finished."

"We didn't kiss at all."

"Not a surprise; like I said, he hates you."

Krieger shrugged. "I didn't try to kiss him in the first place."

This seemed to comfort Ray, though only a bit. "The third rule: don't let your partner know when you've seen each other. It's rude, uncouth, classless, but most of all…" He leaned down and looked Krieger right in the eyes. "Fucking stupid."

"I know."

"Why are you torturing me?" His words were hardly audible.

"I'm sorry. I love you, so much."

"Then act like it,  _ mon cher,  _ simply act like it!"

"I will, babydoll. Please, don't leave me."

Ray blinked and stood up straight. "Oh, my sweet, I'm not going to leave you, and you're not going to leave me!" He held out his hand and helped Krieger to his feet. "You're complicated, that's all there is to it. You're not used to being invincible, so you're testing your limits."

"I'm not invincible."

"You're as close as anyone can possibly be. But there's something you need to remember."

"What?"

"There is no force stronger, more powerful, more deadly than you," said Ray, leaning in. His breath tickled Krieger's ear when he finished, "Except for me."

"I'm sorry."

"I'll bet you are." He got out of the tub and wrapped a towel around his waist.

"Where are you going?"

"To make sure that little rat isn't in my house."

While Ray was gone, Krieger put on some clothes - underwear, undershirt, and flannel pajamas - and buried himself under the covers. Feeling like he'd just run a marathon, he wanted the security of layers between himself and the world. He did manage to drift off to sleep, somehow, and as a result, didn't notice until the morning that Ray never returned to bed.


	9. A Lesson in Venom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> porn and angst!  
> i've had this (and several other chapters) written for over 6 months but never got around to posting them. but i'm determined to finish this story, plus i have a personal rule of not posting a chapter unless i have the next one written. for any of u who are wondering, this plot IS going somewhere, and it is a cohesive story. this is tagged slow burn for a reason ;)

There was nothing like the sight of cream and potatoes bubbling in the oven, thought Ray. He sat on the counter with a book perched on his lap, waiting for the thin-sliced potatoes to soak up the seasoned cream, thus becoming _gratin dauphinois:_ his old favorite hangover food.

Ray himself, of course, wasn't suffering from any such affliction, but Ari was. They'd spent the night together in the young Leibowitz's room; Ray had poked his head in to get the scoop on what happened between Ari and Ryan, but ended up spending several hours comforting his weepy, chronically-vomiting friend. The poor thing. 

Ray had just removed the _gratin dauphinois_ from the oven when Krieger entered. Clearly, he'd been drawn in by the smell, and expected Poovey rather than Ray, because he stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of him. Ray didn't care.

"Good morning, _mon cher,"_ he said breezily, cutting through the crispy, golden layer of Gruyère. 

"Morning." He stood awkwardly in the doorway.

"Heading to work?"

_"Ja."_

"Have some breakfast." Ray scooped some of the creamy concoction onto a plate. "You're hungry, I can hear your belly."

Krieger approached gingerly. "I think I need to feed, for real, even though it's only been a couple of days."

"That sounds about right."

"Oh?" He took a small bite of the dish, and was surprised to find it was quite flavorful; he'd never been able to make anything very interesting out of a potato, even before the war, when it was one of the only hearty options.

"Alcohol, drugs, and stress will make you thirsty. And you've indulged in all three."

"I'm sorry."

"Aaron, didn't I tell you last night to stop apologizing?" There was no venom in his tone.

 _"Ja,_ but…"

"You're quite forgiven. Like I said, you're just a little...tumultuous, emotionally."

"I still feel terrible."

"You should, for now, especially considering the shit you gave me for keeping him as my tart in the first place. But there will be plenty of other parties to make up for last night, and I expect you to dote and make everyone else jealous of me."

Krieger took another bite, hesitating before asking, "Where'd you spend the night?"

"Ari's room."

"Did you find out what happened between the two of them?"

"Not yet. But even if I do, if he asks me not to tell you, I'm afraid I can’t."

Krieger merely nodded. He was feeling rather delicate from the night before, but the food was settling his stomach. Ray always had the answers, it seemed.

"Can I kiss you?"

 _"Mon cher,_ of course. You're forgiven, I told you."

Krieger leaned in and kissed Ray tenderly, brushing his cheek lightly with his thumb. They didn't separate more than an inch when they broke the kiss. 

"God, I wish I didn't have to go to work…"

"But you must." Ray kissed him once more. "And, when you get back, I'll be waiting for you."

"Oh?"

 _"Oui,_ _mon cher,_ it's time we get back into our…" He pulled Krieger in by the belt loops. "Rhythm."

_"Gott im Himmel."_

"I don't care if the house is burning down, you simply must fuck me tonight."

Krieger kissed Ray sloppily. "I promise."

"For now, though…" Ray reached into the refrigerator and extracted a paper bag.

"What's this?"

"Your lunch. All sorts of leftovers from last night."

His eyes lit up. "Really? That's my favorite!"

"What?"

"Leftovers! They're my favorite food."

Ray rolled his eyes at his strange lover. "Get to work, or we're going to have to live under a bridge downtown."

Krieger kissed Ray once more, and left the room with a smile. The moment he was out the door, Ray's sunny mask fell away. 

He felt like a hypocrite. He'd been so harsh when Krieger criticized whether Ryan was necessary, and now had the nerve to feel betrayed by his transgression. Although, Ryan and Ari were an item, and Ryan was therefore no longer fair game. Ray was no longer paying him; he was just another man. _The_ other man. 

And, even if Ryan _was_ paid and available, Ryan and Ray had never discussed whether the former was allowed to be with Aaron. It was bad enough that he'd discarded Ray for Ari without a word, but eating out of Ray's dish was absolutely unacceptable.

Krieger was high, drunk, sensitive, embarrassed from being in the spotlight for the evening, and, most of all, didn't know the rules. He was still to blame, of course, but he was navigating a new world of money, deviance, and whirlwinds of emotion that he wasn't used to.

Ryan, however, knew the rules damn well. 

It was a good thing he and Ari had already broken up, because he was, of course, no longer allowed in the house. Not for a few years, at least, until Aaron learned to control himself.

 

 _"Mon loulou,"_ Ray cooed, "You need to eat."

Ari's groan was muffled beneath the covers. He was covered from head to toe, and had the curtains drawn.

"They're no good cold. And I worked so hard…"

A bony hand poked out and felt around.

"It's not finger food. Sit up."

"You make me sick to my stomach." With another groan, he sat upright, and peeled the moist front of his pajama shirt - one of Ryan's button-downs - away from his sweaty chest.

"Just eat."

"You just want to know what happened between JJ and me."

Ray cringed at Ryan’s nickname. "I'll admit I'm curious."

" _Ja_ , well." He took a bite of the food Ray provided. "Oh, _Scheisse._ Alright, I'll tell you if you get me more of these!"

Ray smirked. "Finish what you've got."

Ari obeyed, gulping down several glasses of water as he went. Finally, the plate was empty. He leaned back and closed his eyes.

"I loved him."

"You don't have to tell me anything."

"I do, though. You're my best friend."

Silently, Ray pulled Ari in so the young man was laying on his chest. They were warm and comfortable beneath the blankets.

"It was just before the party, and well…we were, you know, making love…"

"Alright…?"

Ari flicked his tongue for a moment. "I'm afraid this might require some detail."

"Oh, _mon loulou,_ don't hesitate!"

Ari sighed. "Alright."

 

_Ryan's weight rested completely on Ari, for as he neared orgasm, his motivation to hold himself up diminished, and this was a particularly great fuck. Ari was clutching him, though his hands and legs kept slipping downward due to the multitude of sweat on Ryan's back. His head was buried in the crook of Ryan's neck, though he was resisting the urge to kiss it: not only did Ryan hate that, but Ari didn't want to mess up his lipstick._

_He was moaning right into Ryan's ear, and the blonde was getting carried away._

_"Fuck, I love your voice."_

_"I love your cock!"_

_"God, you're filthy." He adjusted his grip and began thrusting harder._

_"JJ," Ari's voice was higher-pitched than ever. "I'm so close."_

_Ryan opened his eyes and looked down at his lover. Quite suddenly, he was overwhelmed with animal instincts that he could barely control._

_"Oh, fuck."_

_Ari was writhing. "Move,_ Liebe!" _Ryan didn't even realize he'd paused._

_"I - We have to stop."_

"Was?!"

_"I'm gonna - I wanna bite you!"_

_He pulled out and stood, backing away from the bed._

_"Then do it, baby," said Ari, pulling down his shawl to expose his neck. He rose onto shaky legs and followed Ryan. "Bite me!"_

_"No, oh God - " The sound of Ari's pulse was roaring in his ears, and the smell was making him see stars._

_"Bite me hard, draw blood - " Oh, how sweet it would be!_

_"Stop!"_

_Ari was just an inch away, now, still rock hard. "You're not_ really _going to leave me on the edge like this, are you?"_

_"I…" The fragrance of it, like milk and honey, and his skin was so soft, it would hardly take any effort to tear it wide open with his teeth, make a hot red river pour down his thin body._

_"Just bite me if you want to. You know I like pai - "_

_To both men's surprise, Ryan pushed Ari away. All he meant to do was get Ari a few inches further from him; if he'd stayed close, Ryan wouldn't have been able to control himself._

_But, as it was, Ryan was incredibly strong, and his lover was a mere wisp of a man. Ari went flying backward, and landed on his side, sprawled on the floor._

_"Fuck, Cinnamon, I - "_

_"That hurt." Ari looked up at Ryan with eyes like smoldering coals. There was no pleasure in these eyes._

_"I didn't mean to push so hard." He shut his eyes and rubbed his temples. "God, my brain is...fucked."_

_"I'm going to kill you."_

_"I know, I'm sorry, I - "_

_Ryan gagged, suddenly, and realized he'd just been punched in the throat._

_"What the fuck?!" he wheezed._

_"Get out."_

_"Baby - "_

_"Don't look at me, don't speak to me, I never want to see you again. You really thought you could strike me and get away with it?!"_

_"Let me get dressed, I'll go!"_

_"No, you asshole, get out_ now!" _He reached forward to push Ryan out the door, nude, (or attempt to, anyway), but the blonde grabbed both of his wrists. Ari froze._

_"Let me go," he whispered._

_"Stop trying to hit me."_

_"Please, let go, please."_

_"I'm not going to hurt you."_

_"Please, don't look!"_

_Ryan was confused for a moment, and instinctively looked down at Ari's arms, which made him struggle all the harder. His shawl had fallen down his arm, exposing the skin._

_A wave of nausea hit Ryan in the gut. It was suddenly clear why Ari never wore short sleeves, would never get fully naked, never let Ryan see him getting dressed, or in the shower. Several little blue numbers were etched into his left arm._

_He let Ari go. The man immediately shrunk away, and wrapped his shawl tightly around himself._

_"I'm sorry, Cinnamon," said Ryan, still hoarse._

_"Get out, Jack. Just get out."_

_Ari used a technique he'd perfected years prior to avoid crying - he was determined to preserve his mascara, after all._

 

It took awhile for Ari to deliver his side of the story - he paused frequently to find the words, or flick his tongue with stress. When he finished, Ray hugged him even closer.

Ray sighed. "I'm sorry, little _Maus."_

"It's fine, I just...I really did love him."

"You'll never forgive him?"

"I can't afford to do that. Look at my arms!" He rolled his sleeves up an inch. Little yellow bruises blemished his pale skin. "I was with a man like that, once. He slapped me in the face, one night, and said he'd never do it again, but sure enough, a month later, he hit me for real. I fell halfway down the stairs!"

"What did you do?"

"Abelard and Aaron took very good care of him. And I learned my lesson: it's never just once."

"Well...Now, I must ask you to listen without interruption."

Ari propped his head up and gazed at Ray. 

"Our little _JJ_ is a good man, but he has a...condition."

"Of the temper?"

Ray put a finger to his lips. "Listen. He's gentle, and I've never known him to get physical, or fly into a rage, unless someone he loved was in danger."

Ari's brow furrowed.

"His condition is not one you're familiar with. When overwhelmed - whether anger or pleasure - his instincts are reduced to that of an animal. If he'd bitten you, like he said, I can tell you for a fact, it would not have been pleasant. He pushed you away to protect you."

"Across the room!"

"He doesn't know his own strength."

"Ray, you should've felt it! It was like getting hit by a train, you can't do it unintentionally."

"His condition also curses him with inhuman strength."

Ari paused. "How is that possible?"

"His cold skin, his pallid complexion, it's all part of his illness. I have it, too."

 _"You_ have inhuman strength?"

"There's a lot you don't know, _mon caneton._ He didn't mean to hurt you. And, as much as I hate him, he loves you."

"It doesn't matter. He saw my...scar. I can’t stay with him after that."

"But so has Arnold."

"Why do you think I hardly speak to Arnold?"

"Oh…"

"And, wait. Why do you hate him?"

A beat while Ray considered how to put this. "He committed a transgression that he knew he shouldn't have."

"Against you?"

_"Oui."_

"What was it?"

"You don't need to know."

"At the party, you got into a fight?"

"No! Why do you ask?"

"Because just as he was leaving, he said goodbye to me. And when I looked up, I noticed he was missing a tooth."

Suspicion blossomed in Ray's mind. "But he wasn't damaged besides that?"

"No, that's the odd part."

Ray only nodded.

"Do you know anything about that?"

"Drink your tea, _mon loulou."_

"How do you two know each other, again?"

"Dreamland, remember?"

"But how?"

"He was a regular."

Ari's face contorted into a deadly stare. "Wrong."

"Hm?" 

He sat up, on his knees, towering over Ray, though what little light snuck in past the curtains shone through his shirt, revealing his scrawny silhouette.

"You told me he came in once, for an article in the paper."

"I was thinking of someone else."

"I don't believe you."

If it was anyone else, Ray would be indignant, but Ari was his friend and confidant. He didn't like deceiving him. And after all, it was difficult to be offended over an accusation of lying when he had, in fact, lied.

"I didn't want to tell you. We had a relationship, of sorts."

"Of _what_ sort?"

"A sexual friendship, you might say."

"Not while you were seeing my brother, of course?"

"Of course not."

"And not while _I_ was seeing Jack?"

"Certainly not." 

Little did Ari know, he was close to a discovery. But he just sat back down and begged, “Please, tell me what’s wrong with him?”

"Nothing you want to know."

 Ari rubbed his chin. "Why does everyone treat me like a child?"

"I don't! You're my best friend!"

"But still, you think - somehow, after the life _I've_ led - that I need your protection."

Ray sighed. "I'll tell you when your hangover is passed." 

Ari nodded and leaned back into the pillows, shutting his eyes. "I did love him," whispered Ari.

"I know. It'll all be clear to you, soon."

"It never is."

Ray lazily stroked Ari's hair. "You'll understand one day."

Suddenly, Ray felt a cold hand on his cheek, and supple, youthful lips against his. For a moment, he didn't protest, but didn't kiss back, either. 

 _"Non, mon cher,"_ Ray murmured, but he put his hand behind Ari's head and ran it through the thick, brown hair.

"Please. I need you."

Ray hummed and let his hand stroke Ari’s bony back. He was so fragile, physically, it was easy to forget how much he could really handle. It was when Ari opened his mouth that Ray pulled away. 

"But, your brother…"

"Aaron can't even look me in the eye without seeing a victim, or a distant memory, or _Mama._ You’re the only one who sees me as a person."

"I don’t want to do this."

"Oh." He looked down. "Well, I won't argue with that."

"I know how you feel. I really do. But I love your brother."

Ari smiled. "See, that was one thing I could be sure of with Ryan: Abelard isn't around, Aaron hates him, and Arnold likes women, so he was all mine. When I was younger, the boys who liked mel just wanted a crack at my brothers; they're older, you know, sophisticated. But Ryan was all mine."

Ray shifted. If Ari was better at reading body language, he could have interpreted the suspicious discomfort in that movement, but he wasn’t, so he didn’t.

"I just feel such a connection with you. It's like we're meant to be."

Such a simple sentence, spoken softly by a soft little man, but it was a spark that ignited an inferno in Ray's mind.

_Meant to be._

How happy he'd been when the handsome doctor arrived, manly and hairy and full of blood, ripe for drinking. Lana's spell had worked! This wasn't the average traveller, it couldn't be; there were precautions around Ray's home preventing it from being stumbled upon, as it were.

How quickly he'd integrated the man into his routine, given him a job, fed him, clothed him. How quickly it had backfired. Aaron offered love, but no obedience, no stability. Only misstep after misstep.

Ray hadn't thought twice about housing the man's brothers, partly because he was blinded by love, and partly because he rather enjoyed company. 

And how fast he and Ari became friends. Ray saw the complexity of the man, the depth he had to offer, he saw the humanity behind a web of illness and trauma and hesitancy to be known, and got to know him.

Not to mention the things they had in common. Ari liked to be made up, to wear elegant dresses and stoles, he had impeccable (if somewhat crude) taste. He was gentle, he was kind, he was a firecracker in bed, if the stories were true. He even found himself at Dreamland, where he met Ryan, by complete happenstance. Ray couldn't help but wonder if he'd acted too soon. 

Had he chosen the wrong brother?

He did love Ari, very much, precisely as much as he loved Aaron. Aaron, so cranky and insatiable. Aaron, so distant, yet so needy. Aaron.

Ray took a deep breath. 

"I have no doubt we were meant to meet. But I don't think _this…"_

Ari was hugging himself. "Me neither, really, I just hate this throwaway feeling."

"I know."

"I smell like booze."

"I know."

"I'm going to take a shower." His expression was neutral, but Ray couldn't help but interpret it as an invitation. Even though it couldn't be, because Ari needed to keep his arm covered. But then, if he was behind Ray, they wouldn't have to worry about such things...

Ray stood. "I hope you feel better, _mon loulou."_

"I do. I love you, you know, in the purest way."

"I love you, too, no matter what. And I'm going to take care of _Monsieur_ Ryan."

"Like, kill him?"

 _Done that._ "Whatever it takes."

In his own room, Ray prepared for Krieger's arrival. After a lot of thought, he decided on a pair of red heels, a long, ornate kimono, and nothing else. With his cigarette holder hanging out of his mouth, he arranged several toys at the foot of the bed. He then switched the cigarette out for a reefer and sat back to wait.

Ari was a fine specimen, it was true, but the main obstacle in Ray's mind when considering their theoretical relationship was turning the man. Ari wasn't known for his love of consuming hot liquids, and blood was basically soup. Would the animal hunger overpower his repulsion? Ray doubted it.

He was gorgeous, though, unblemished and unwrinkled at 33, despite being so tortured, unlike Arnold, who looked 50 at 37. Ari was like Venus in the clamshell, untouched by age. Ray would love to just whisk him away, keep him in their own little world, dress him and feed him and tend to his fickle angsts. Maybe even install a greenhouse on the grounds… 

Ray had felt this way before, but couldn't quite place it until his thoughts drifted back to Ryan. Besides sex, they'd always had the dynamic of friends rather than lovers, but still, Ray gave all he could. His boyish excitement about his job was such a welcome sight, considering their usual pillow talk consisted mostly of sharing horrors, of which Ryan had very many. He _had_ been touched by age, though not in the form of wrinkles or spots. His eyes, a gorgeous shade of blue, were so haunted, they were hard to look into. Ray tried tossing gifts and love and excitement into the abyss, but it was fruitless.

More than once, Ray thought he'd made a mistake. It might have been in Ryan’s best interest not to be turned, to live a natural life, and die in a few decades, leaving his memories behind with the rest of the squalor on Earth. 

But, Ray had to admit, the man passed every test. Noble, loyal, caring, with a sense of justice and a desire to enforce it...But, like Ari, he was tortured, and his past trauma and issues with men had begun to affect Ray. Ray’s man, more specifically. This could not be allowed to happen.

Ryan would always be Ray’s first, fondest creation, but Ray was more territorial even than Krieger; the difference between them was that Krieger overestimated the boundary of his territory. Ray knew where his domain began and ended, and by every definition, Ryan had crossed the property line. He couldn't go unpunished. 

Ray jumped when the door creaked open. A pair of big, green eyes were peering at him nervously.

"Can I come in?"

Ray smiled at the sight of Krieger. His beard was still bushy, and he'd kept his hair curly, too hungover that morning to bother otherwise. 

"It's your room, _mon cher."_

"Yeah, well…" He shut the door behind him and leaned back on it.

"Why are you acting like a little schoolboy?"

"I'm distracted. You look…"

The reefer and his train of thought had distracted Ray from his plan. He suddenly remembered what he was wearing - what little there was of it.

"You like it?"

Krieger took a tentative step forward. "I'm waiting for something to get in the way."

"I think I've got it. Did you and Ryan get in a fight?"

Krieger's shoulders slumped. _"Ja."_

"Excellent."

"Huh?"

"He turned the injuries back onto you, I presume?"

"Uh-huh."

"Excellent, excellent, excellent. You’ve both learned your lesson."

Krieger stood awkwardly. He'd noticed the toys.

Ray took a puff of the reefer. "Why don't you take your clothes off," he said, picking up a dildo, "And I'll help you with this?"

"Are you sure?"

 _"Mon cher,_ I told you this morning." He spread his legs, letting the silk layer fall away and expose his naked body. "We're having sex, right here, right now, and nothing is going to get in our way."

 _"Scheisse."_ Krieger climbed into bed.

"Don't you want to strip?"

"I want to kiss you, first," he breathed, and proceeded to do just that.

So different from Ari's soft kiss. His beard prickled Ray, his hands were large and rough, and his smell was a masculine, earthy odor. When they separated, Aaron was gazing back at him with emerald eyes, and guilt assaulted Ray’s chest like a battering ram. 

"Kiss me again."

The reefer was discarded into an ashtray, so that Krieger could roll on top of Ray and rest his whole weight on him.

"I can't believe you got all dressed up, just for me," teased Krieger, but Ray was in no mood to be coy.

"Oh, Aaron, the day I've had!"

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, absolutely nothing!" He kissed Aaron's face, his nose, his beard. "I need you, now. I had such plans in mind, and we can use _Monsieur_ _Dildo_ later, I promise. But right now, I need all of you."

"Let me go wash my hands." The response of a doctor, Ray thought fondly.

 

Aaron returned a minute later, naked and smiling. He hopped into bed beside Ray and nipped his ear.

"I love this silk number, babydoll, but you should probably take it off, now."

"Why?"

"I'm feeling a little bloodthirsty. I’d hate to stain this."

Images flashed through Ray's mind: Aaron slashing a cut above Ray's heart with a dagger; piercing a hole clean through Ray's tongue with a long fang; ripping his throat out with those same pearly teeth. Ray couldn't decide which one was more pleasurable.

As they fucked, their bodies inched closer and closer to the headboard. Just then, Ray didn't care about cracking it in half, but evidently Krieger did, for he lifted his lover up and swung him to the side, so they were horizontal across the bed. Ray's legs were upon Krieger's shoulders, and his head was hanging off the side of the bed.

 _"Mon jouet,_ I had such big plans!"

"You think this is going to be our only round tonight?"

"So eager," Ray smirked.

Krieger's response was to simply stop moving.

"You're so tight, baby…"

"Please, move, _mon cher,_ please, please _please!"_

"You didn't say the magic word."

"I said 'please' twelve times!"

Ray gazed up at his lover. He'd never been a fan of green eyes before he met Krieger; they were usually rather muddy-colored, but Aaron's were as bright as grass on a summer day, glistening with morning dew. Internally, he scoffed at his own sappiness.

"Aaron…"

"There it is," he growled, and began fucking Ray as hard as he could. They were distracted, careless, and as a result, tumbled off the bed in a tangle of limbs. 

Ray couldn't stop laughing, even as Krieger manhandled him back onto his feet and bent him over the bed. The laughs turned to giggles when Krieger inserted four fingers into him, and began fucking Ray with his hand. They finally disappeared when Krieger knelt down behind him and bit the sensitive skin at the small of his back.

"Oh, fuck." Ray was suddenly regretting wearing heels: his legs were rather wobbly. 

Being bitten was one of the most erotic things on Earth, to Ray. The sting of the teeth entering him quickly gave way to the flow of blood gushing from the wounds. The feeling was, as he put it, _le petit orgasme_. Krieger's drinking, swirling his tongue around the bites, only heightened the pleasure. The doctor was eager, to Ray's relief; he'd had a lot of alcohol the night before, and was worried that his blood would taste bad, but judging by Krieger's moans against his skin, it was just fine.

Ray came first, melting into the bedspread, finally giving up on holding himself up. Krieger followed soon after, standing and masturbating onto Ray's ass. The pinprick wounds from his bite had healed, by now.

He took a moment to catch his breath, then rolled Ray over to get a look at him. 

"Why do you look so smug?" Ray muttered. 

Krieger was, indeed, sporting a self-satisfied grin. 

"Because you're red as a tomato, you've got semen up to your chest, and drool down your chin."

"Ho, ho," said Ray. "You think you're so great."

"I wouldn't go that far."

"Mm, well…" Ray scooted upward so he could stretch out. "Once I catch my breath, you're going to be begging for mercy in several different languages."

"Whatever." Krieger had just begun licking the sweat on Ray’s collarbone when the phone rang. "I'll get it."

He took a deep breath, suddenly nervous. "Gillette residence."

"I need Dr. Krieger, _now."_

Ray's eyebrows shot up. Due to his heightened hearing, he was privy to both sides of the conversation.

"Um, who is this?"

"J. Ryan."

Krieger heard a little crack and realized the lightbulb in one of Ray's Japanese lamps had burst. The man in question held out his hand, and the phone flew into it.

"You are fucking _dead_ , you stupid little weasel, do you hear me?!"

"Ray?"

"Don't fucking call here, after what you did to me, and poor Ari! You careless idiot!"

"I'm sorry, I just - "

"And you have the nerve to call here, and ask for _my_ Aaron?!" 

Another gentle crack. Krieger peered around, trying to figure out what had broken.

"Please, Ray, it's my tooth."

"What do I care about your fucking - "

"Your precious Aaron punched a fang out of my fucking face!"

Ray paused. "It was a fang?"

"Yeah, and now there's stuff leaking out of my gums, and my mouth and lips are all numb, and I can't sleep, and I can't hunt even though I’m starving, and I - "

"Get over here. Or should I send someone to pick you up?"

"I'll call a cab," Ryan muttered, and hung up.

Ray glared up at Krieger. "Why didn't you tell me you knocked one of his _fangs_ out?"

"Quite honestly, I'd forgotten."

"I'm a fucking idiot."

"Huh?"

Ray stood and began cleaning himself. From the bathroom he called. "Neither of you, my sweet little monsters, knew the consequences of losing a fang?"

"Evidently not."

"That's my shortcoming as your creator."

Krieger shifted his weight. "Well, what _are_ the consequences?"

Several moments passed as Ray tried to think of how to explain. "Our condition is spread like a virus, almost. The venom is released when we intend to turn someone. This venom is like liquid fire, it’s positively heinous - it’s the reason a vampire’s bite scars instead of healing. So, when one loses a fang, the floodgates are open, so to speak. The wound doesn't heal, because the venom keeps them open."

"So…"

"So, _docteur_ , think of it this way: Ryan has been leaking acid since the moment you punched him last night."

_"Scheisse."_

_"Oui._ And _you're_ going to fix him."

"I'm not a dentist." He knew less than nothing about dentistry. Abelard was a dentist, but that was of little help now, since he was dead or wherever. 

"I have some books on the subject in the library. Get dressed and find them."

"Okay, but I don't know how much I'll be able to do."

Ray paused. "You _must_ fix him, otherwise he'll die."

"I'll try, babydoll."

Ray was gazing at Krieger intensely. "I certainly hope that you wouldn't purposely sabotage the procedure, just because you don't care for Ryan."

"Of course not! That's reprehensible, and besides, I…" He shook his head. Now was not the time to admit that, after all they’d said to each other the night before, he didn’t mind Ryan. "Of course not."

"That's fortunate," said Ray, approaching Krieger, "Because if I suspect for a moment that you've performed anything less than the best of your abilities…" He was nose to nose with the doctor. "You'll meet the same fate as him."

 

"Um, can I help you?"

Poovey had just watched Ari rummage through the refrigerator, pantry, and every cabinet in the kitchen, only to start the process over again.

"No, thank you."

"Well, I don't really want you fuckin' around with my organizational system."

Ari was examining an empty jar of raspberry preserves. "Organization?"

Poovey snatched the jar and placed it back in the fridge. "Welcome to my twisted brain. Sit down, why don't you?"

Ari obeyed, taking a seat upon the counter.

"What're you hungry for?"

"I don't know. I thought it'd strike me when I saw it, but…"

"Nothing struck you. I know the feeling."

"I'm not even hungry, really, I just…J. and I broke up, and it was a humiliating ordeal, and I'm still hungover, and…"

"And you want something warm and fuzzy, but nothing that'll cause an upset stomach."

"You read my mind."

"That's what they pay me the big bucks for." They turned to the refrigerator and peered in. "Any no-go's, besides soup?"

"It must be Kosher, of course."

"'Course."

"And I think I'd like something sweet."

"Sweet, huh?" They opened the crisper and took out a bottle. "I think I've got just the thing."

Poovey put the bottle on the counter. From the freezer, they extracted a frosty mug, and a tub of vanilla ice cream.

"Ever had a float?"

"What's that?"

Poovey's eyes widened. "Are you serious?!"

"Is it an American food?"

"Yeah!"

"Arnold usually just makes German stuff, at home."

"Well, you've got a new home, now."

Ari smiled. This was the most he'd ever talked to Poovey, and they were as cool as Ari suspected. He'd wanted to make friends with them for a long time, not in the least because they shared an affinity for gender nonconformity.

"I guess that's true."

Poovey scooped some of the ice cream into the mug, and then, to Ari's surprise and repulsion, popped open the bottle of soda and poured it in as well. A fluffy, thick layer of foam formed at the top of the glass.

"You're crazy," said Ari.

"Try it! Ice cream: great. Cola: also great, _and_ it'll settle your stomach." They pressed a spoon into Ari's hand. 

"Did you invent this?"

"I wish I was that much of a genius."

Ari picked up the cold mug. "You promise this isn't a joke?"

Poovey got a spoon for themself and took a bite. "See? Delicious. Trust me."

 _You can do it,_ Ari thought. He always had to hype himself up before trying a new food. _You like ice cream. You love cola. And every time you try something new, you enjoy it. It's no big deal._

He gathered equal parts cola and ice cream on his spoon and took a bite.

Sweet, freezing, bubbly, creamy, perfect.

"You like it?"

"It's just what I need."

"So...What happened between you and Ryan?"

"He's a jerk. And, you know, I love Ray, but he didn't understand, he just defended him."

"What _happened_ , though?"

For the second time that day, Ari exposed his bruised wrists. "This, for one thing. He was squeezing so hard I thought he was going to break my arm."

"Holy shit! I'll kill him for ya."

Cheryl entered just then. "Who are we killing?"

"That little rat, Ryan - " they turned to Ari. "Is it okay if I tell her…?"

Ari nodded.

"Grabbed the kid so hard he's all bruised."

"The fun way?"

"No, asshole."

"Shit. So, how're we gonna do it?"

Ari shook his head. "He wasn't angry, he was trying to keep me away from him - he pushed me across the room, too. Ray said he was 'overwhelmed.' He’s probably right, I don't think he meant it, but I still can't be with him if he can't help himself. It's almost worse, that way."

Cheryl and Poovey looked at each other.

"Have you considered that he doesn't know his own strength?" asked Poovey.

"That's exactly what Ray said. He said he has a condition that makes him very strong, or something."

"Well, that's true," said Cheryl.

"I've never heard of a condition like that."

"Yes, you have."

"Careful," warned Poovey.

Cheryl stepped toward Ari. "Ryan, Ray, and your big brother all have the same thing."

"My brother? Which one?"

"Which one of your brothers sleeps all day, and lives his life at night?"

"Aaron…"

"What do the three of them have in common?"

Ari shrugged. His mind was racing, trying to connect dots that he couldn't perceive, yet.

"They're all cold, aren't they? Like, to the touch? And - like we just said - they stay up all night? Think about it. Do any of them eat real meals? Does Ryan let you touch his ne - ?"

"That's enough," Poovey interrupted. "He knows all he needs to know. He'll find out the rest in time."

Ari's hands were numb from the cold glass. 

"I'm not good at this."

"Good at what, kid?"

He scratched his neck anxiously. "I don't know what those hints are supposed to mean. I'm not good at that, I never was. I can't tell what you mean unless you tell me directly."

"Good. She shouldn't have said anything." Poovey was glaring at Cheryl, unflinching.

"The float's not really doing it for me, anymore," Ari whispered. His friends' betrayal made him feel smaller than ever; the whole world seemed hellbent on defending Ryan. 

If only they felt the way he did. He’d loved Ryan, trusted him implicitly. Ari knew himself - just barely six feet tall, thin as a twig, and that night he'd been made up and wearing Ray's feminine clothes. Not to mention his status as a Jewish man; antisemitism hadn't ended with the war. As such, his trust was incredibly rare and valuable. And what did Ryan do with it? Throw it across the room, with the strength and ease of an army man. 

He'd seemed so gentle. Like Ari, he'd seen a lot of inhuman tragedies, and they haunted him. Many nights, he'd woken up screaming, slick with cold sweat. 

Ari had heard stories, of course, of boyfriends who went off to war, and came back angry, empty men. But not Ryan. He was funny, gentle, kind, a little bit on the dumber side, but only because his vocabulary and command of the English language wasn't great. He'd gone straight from high school to the army to - apparently - Ray's care, and a cushy, low-pressure job where his simplistic, straightforward way with words was valued. 

That job…Such a coincidence. If Ari hadn't gone to Dreamland that night (he almost didn't, he wasn't feeling particularly social) and hadn't gone for Ryan (he almost didn't, blondes weren't his favorite) and hadn't agreed that looking through some photographs would be a fine idea (he almost didn't, he hated when men felt the need to show off. _You won, I'm here,_ Ari always thought, _Let's just screw already!)_ he'd never have found that picture of Aaron, and they might never have reunited.

But his favorite thing about Ryan was the fact that he never asked any questions. "Why are you flapping your hands? Shaking your leg? Why won't you take your shirt off? Why can't I see you naked? Why did you move to America? What did you do during the war?" No, the most complicated question Jack ever asked was, "What movie should we see?"

Every time one of these positive memories occurred to Ari, he remembered the feeling of hitting the ground, skidding to a stop on the hardwood floor. The familiarity of that feeling, the helplessness. 

But maybe he deserved it, maybe that's what you get, that's what you get for being a pervert. Men are bad enough, but a man ten years his junior, he should've known -

"Ari?"

He looked up. Cheryl was holding out a little tin full of mints. Or so he thought.

"Want some codeine?"

"I can't swallow pills." Another in a long line of flaws.

"Then crush it up and put it in your float."

Ari smirked. It had been years since he did anything harder than some marijuana on the weekends, but he used to manage his strange brain with a cocktail of drugs. He remembered going through withdrawal in the camp. 

 _"Danke,"_ he said, holding out his glass. 

 

Downstairs, in the basement, Ryan was laying on the bench press with Ray by his side. Ray held a handkerchief to Ryan's gums, trying to slow the hemorrhage, but it was futile. The venom was soaking the cloth at a rapid rate. Ryan was so pale, his veins were visible, as were the purple webs beneath his red eyes. The venom had numbed his mouth so badly that he was incomprehensible, though if he could speak, it wouldn't be anything worthwhile; he was hardly holding onto consciousness.

"Have you found anything?" Ray asked, not taking his eyes off of Ryan. 

Krieger, who was poring over several thick volumes of dentistry textbooks, shook his head.

"Even if we had the tooth, the roots would be dried out by now, so we wouldn't be able to reinsert it. I could try surgical - "

"No surgery. The venom keeps the wounds open, remember?"

"Fuck…" He turned a few pages. "I think I've got an idea, but…"

"But?"

"It's going to take a few hours. And it's going to be painful."

"I don't know if he'll last that long." 

"Then feed him. I gotta go."

"Where? Where are you going?"

"Work. I need supplies."

"What's your plan?"

"I'm not sure yet."

Ray slammed his fist on the bench and screamed an inhuman scream.

"Ray!"

"You _must_ succeed! No other task you've ever had is as important as this one!"

"Ray, I'm going to try."

"Failure cannot happen, don't you understand? It can't happen!" Hot tears were streaming down his face. 

"I know...I didn’t realize you cared so much about him, after…”

"You don't know anything!" He laid his head on Ryan's motionless chest. "You don't understand. I created him. I promised him eternal life - or at least, a long, beautiful one."

"I - "

"He can't die at twenty-six at the hands of one of my other creations. He can't. Not after what I promised him. Oh, if it weren't for me, he’d have lived a long life as a human!"

"Ray." 

He looked up at the doctor.

"Get ahold of yourself. Feed him, he needs it. I'll be back." 

Ray nodded. He pricked his finger on one of his own teeth and inserted it into Ryan's mouth. Blood from another vampire was rich and nutritious, but it couldn’t be done too frequently lest too much blood was lost.

Krieger was acting calm for Ray's sake, but in reality, he was shaken to the core. He'd seen Ray get emotional before, livid, and even then, he was rigidly controlled. Seeing him unleashed like this…

He needed to fix Ryan at all costs.

 

The doctor returned two hours and $200 later (part purchases, part bribes). Time was running out, he knew, which was why he cursed violently when he realized he’d forgotten to acquire adequate painkillers.

“What’s the matter?” called a voice from above.

Krieger looked up. Ari was peering at him from the second floor balcony.

“Does Arnold have any painkillers for his leg?”

“Besides marijuana? _Nein._ But I’ve got codeine.”

“Get down here and give me some, and later I’m going to kill you!”

“Keep your _Unterhose_ on.” He sauntered downstairs and handed over the little tin Cheryl had given him.

“Why are you taking codeine?”

“Leave it to you to ruin my fun.”

“Uh-huh. We’ll talk about this later.”

“Let’s don’t.”

Aaron took in his brother’s appearance. He was jittering, and though he wouldn’t make eye contact, his pupils were like pinholes. What was this family but a band of sentient problems?

Now that he had all he needed, Krieger descended the stairs.

The doctor spread a towel beside Ryan and laid out the supplies he’d gathered, including some lamps from the drawing room, a flashlight, and Ray’s aluminum-backed hand mirror, which he propped against the wall.

“What’re you going to do?” asked Ray, surveying the items.

“Please, be quiet.”

Ray obeyed, and watched as Krieger popped two pills and picked up a hammer. Krieger gazed into the mirror, and there was a chilling crack as he took the hammer to his teeth.

“Aaron!”

“Please, be quiet,” he growled,wet with blood and spit. One of his teeth was loose, now. He selected another tool and, slowly, whimpering, tugged it out.

Ray had a hand over his own mouth.

“Aaron, tell me you didn’t…”

“If you can’t be quiet,” he slurred, “Just leave.”

Krieger stuffed a cloth in his mouth to curb the flow of blood and venom, held the extracted fang up to the light, and considered praying. He decided against it. 

Silently, after sanitizing the tooth, he handed the flashlight to Ray and pointed it into Ryan’s mouth. He held the man’s jaw open in order to examine the wound. Sure enough, it was as if raw, as if the tooth was freshly pulled.

Ryan was unconscious, but when Krieger began inserting the roots of his own tooth into Ryan’s gums, he stirred. By the time it was fully inserted, Ryan was moaning, and tears were running down his face. Krieger wiped away the fluids and sat back to observe.

“He’s just bleeding,” said Ray, in a thin voice. “No more venom.”

Krieger nodded and extracted the handkerchief from his mouth.

“What are you going to do?”

“You should go upstairs.”

“Please, Aaron, don’t make me.”

“I don’t want you to see this. Go.”

Ray stood and kissed the top of Krieger’s head. “I love you.”

Krieger only nodded and watched Ray ascend the stairs, kimono billowing behind him. 

The doctor turned, faced the mirror, took a deep breath, and began filling a needle with novacaine. Vaguely, he thought, it had been a long time since he’d been alone - Ryan was moaning on the bench, but he hardly counted.

 

Upstairs, Ray's face was buried in a pillow, soaked with tears. He cursed his superhuman senses. The screams were inescapable, even three floors away. Anguished, desperate, profoundly human screams of suffering, the sound of nightmares. Whatever Aaron was doing down there was without a doubt the most stupid and heinous thing Ray ever heard.

Ray didn't think he could take another moment listening to them, until they stopped.

Oh, God, why did he stop? 

Ray waited what must have been five minutes (though it felt like longer) frozen, straining his ears for Krieger's strangled voice, to no avail. When he rose from the bed, and moved through the eerily still house, everything felt like a dream.

“Aaron?” Ray whispered. Of course, he was on the other side of the basement door, so Aaron couldn’t hear. That’s why he didn’t respond, not because he was dead. He was fine, he must be. 

“Aaron?” A little louder, that time. He cracked the door open, slowly. “Aaron?”

Trembling, Ray tiptoed down the stairs. “Answer me,” he tried to say, but no sound came out. “Aaron?”

A moan, but it could've been Ryan.

“Aaron, are you alright?”

Krieger was laying on his stomach, drooling onto the floor.

“Come, _mon cher,_ let’s go upstairs.”

He shook his head.

“Why won’t you answer me?”

“Hurts.”

“What did you do?”

“Look.”

Every cell in Ray’s body screamed in protest as he approached Krieger, but he did anyway. 

On the floor surrounding Krieger was a bloody drill, some screws, a bucket of blood-ribboned spit, and a needle.

His gums were an angry, violent red, but there were no teeth missing.

“What’d you - ” then, he realized. All of Krieger’s teeth were accounted for, but where his fang used to be, there was a normal tooth.

“Acrylic resin,” he said, pointing to it. “Convincing, huh?”

_“Mon Dieu.”_

“And it’s healing nicely. God, I thought the pain would never stop. Even with the drugs…” He shook his head. “I need a drink.”

“I’ll make you one. What do you want?”

“No...No, thanks.”

“You’re scaring me.”

“Why?”

The calm, Ray thought, the unwavering unnatural all-encompassing calm.

“Oh, _mon cher,_ why did you do that?”

“Do what?” With great effort, he began sitting up.

“Give up one of your fangs!”

Krieger shrugged. “It’s my fault he lost his in the first place. Fair trade.”

“Oh, Aaron.” He rested a hand upon the doctor’s cheek.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“If I hadn’t saved Ryan, would you really have killed me?”

Ray sighed. He leaned in close to Krieger and rested their foreheads together. Krieger's skin was hotter than usual. 

"Do you remember the first night we were together, _mon jouet?"_

Krieger didn't answer. 

"That was back before you knew anything about the world."

"I knew some."

"More than most, that's true, but still not much." He cupped Krieger's face in his hands. "You were quite convinced that I was going to kill you for sport. Remember?"

Krieger nodded.

"You asked me, then, while we were playing dress-up, if I planned on killing you. I denied it. And then, you asked if I would ever kill you, even if you deserved it. Do you remember what I said?" He kissed Krieger's forehead. "I couldn't. Even if you had let Ryan die, I wouldn't even stop loving you, though I'd be enraged at the coldheartedness, and gravely disappointed."

Krieger sighed. "Okay."

"You need to know that I would never harm you."

"I know."

"I love you."

“Uh-huh.” He pulled himself up from the floor. “I’m going out.”

“What?!”

“I’ll see ya...What time is it?”

“Eight o’clock at night!”

“Uh-huh. Well, I’ll see ya.” He bounded up the stairs two at a time, not listening to Ray’s protests, loud and numerous as they were.

 

When Ryan finally woke up, he was greeted by the sight of Ray, on the floor, kimono spread out all around him, crying into the intricately woven sleeve.

"Ray?"

"Shut up."

"My tooth feels way better."

"I should think so."

"What's wrong?"

Ray shook his head as a fresh wave of sobs hit him. "He's all I want!"

"Who?"

"Aaron, you dumb _canard,_ but everything and everyone is intent upon tempting him from my arms…" He wiped his red cheeks. "Including you."

"I'm sorry."

"Why did you do that to me, after all I've done for you?!"

Ryan lowered himself to the floor and put an arm around Ray.

"Honey, you know why I did it."

"I'm afraid not."

"It's the same reason I said yes to you, all those years ago."

Ray giggled crazily. He couldn't help it. How quaint, referring to three years as if that was significant!

Ryan hugged Ray close. "When a powerful man makes me an offer, I can't say no."

"Yes, you can."

"I can't, baby, I can try, but I can't. And even if you say no, they'll just try and change your mind."

"Ari is heartbroken."

"You told him?!"

 _“Non,_ he told me about your little spat.”

"Ray, I swear I would never lay a hand on him if -"

"He told nothing but the truth: you were overcome with an urge, and pushed him away."

"So he knows I wasn't trying to hurt him?" 

 _"Oui,_ but he'll still never be with you. You looked at his tattoo."

"Oh." He hung his head. "I'm so fucking stupid."

"Me, too," Ray sighed, leaning into Ryan's chest. It was a muscular, hard chest, young and supple. It brought Ray no comfort. "You should go, _mon cher."_

"Are you mad at me?"

 _"Oui."_ But he cuddled closer to Ryan.

"I'm sorry. I hate disappointing you."

"I know."

"Do you…"

"Do I what?"

"Love me, still?"

Ray placed a hand on Ryan's cheek. "You boys have such poor memory. _Mon cher,_ you betrayed me, but do you remember what I told you, 'all those years ago'?"

Ryan gazed at him. His eyes were weary. He was feeling the lonely ache of immortality, already.

"No matter how alone you feel, how wretched, how bitter you become, there will always be someone out there who loves you."

A beat. "You mean you, right?"

Ray smiled. "Yes, you innocent little thing."

"Oh. I love you, too." He was so handsome and sweet, Ray was overcome with frustration that none of them, not Ryan nor Krieger nor Ray himself could just live. Just live, without complications, just mind his own business and _live._

"You should go." 

"Yeah." With effort, he stood, and pulled on his cap, ignoring the lightheadedness and aching mouth. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me. Aaron saved you."

Ryan blinked. "Really?"

 _"Oui._ I had to threaten his life, of course." He, too, stood, and faced Ryan. "Which reminds me.”

“Oh, God.”

"I'm quite serious. I'm afraid you're going to have to learn to say 'no,' _mon loulou,_ because Aaron might proposition you again."

"I would never - "

"But you did, once before." He stepped toward Ryan and pulled him in by the tie. "And, if it happens again...Aaron will face consequences, but whatever happens to him, I can promise your fate will be much worse."

"You'd really kill me?"

"Why does everyone doubt my capacity to kill? If you betrayed me once, and then I, out of the kindness of my heart, orchestrated the saving of your life, and then betrayed me _again?_ I'd have to. How poetic it would be to slit your throat, the very place I bit you!"

Ryan grinned his stupid, gorgeous little grin. "But I was your first. Wouldn't a piece of you die with me?"

Ray released his tie. "I don't want to find out."

 

It was nearly nine o'clock by the time Ryan left. Ray didn't go back to bed until high noon, when the California sun became too much to handle. He'd been sitting on the bedroom balcony, watching, waiting for Aaron to return, to no avail. Aaron would not return until three o'clock in the afternoon. He would provide no explanation, and Ray would not ask. 

It was the beginning of the end.


	10. Ragdoll Feeling

_ August 3rd. Two weeks until Abelard's arrival.  _

Ray was still awake when Krieger climbed into bed, despite the warm covers and pitch darkness of the room. He didn't roll over to greet Krieger, nor did he scold, though he was tempted by fantasies of both. Since saving Ryan, Krieger had been staying out late every night, and Ray knew it was futile to ask for an explanation; in fact, it would only drive Aaron further away. They hadn’t had a real conversation in days.

That was why Ray was shocked that Aaron chose to break the silence tonight. 

“I got you something."

He turned his head. Krieger passed him a jewelry box. 

Ray's stomach sank when he laid eyes on the gorgeous bracelet, composed of several little pearls on a chain. Something was wrong, it had to be. 

"Thank you." He snapped the box shut, set it on the bedside table, and settled back into the covers, reeling in more of the blankets for himself. "I'm cold, Aaron."

He slid closer and held Ray close to his body. They fit together like spoons. "I'll warm you up."

Ray took in Krieger's scent. Bar soap, just bar soap. He was reminded of a play he'd seen years ago. It was a drama, corny as anything. The detective had suspected the grieving husband of murdering his own wife, a suspicion that arose due to how curiously and unnaturally spotless the kitchen was. Where the rest of the house was worn down and lived in, the kitchen floor was clean and reeked of soap and bleach. What had the husband worked so hard to scrub away from that patch of tile?

"Kiss me?"

Aaron cupped Ray's face in his hand and kissed him. What could he possibly have done, Ray wondered…? Maybe he'd gone hunting without him. That must be it. He'd gotten his hands on a juicy victim, taken him to a hotel - or her!

That  _ must  _ be it, or something similar. He'd gotten heated with a victim, eaten without Ray, and now he felt guilty. Ray could live with that. 

He broke the kiss and looked into Krieger's eyes. 

"I love you, Aaron."

"I love you, too."

Seamless. His eyes were soft, he didn't hesitate, he even cracked a smile. Ray decided not to worry about it. 

 

_ Aug 9th. One week until Abelard’s arrival. _

In the evenings, as the sun began to set, Ray could stand to join Ari outside, so long as they sat at the patio table beneath the huge umbrella. It was one of his few pleasures. Aaron’s late nights had begun to wear on Ray. He'd been working late, or so he claimed: he went in for his usual shift at 7 at night, and was due home at midnight, but never returned on time. Ray often stayed up late waiting for him, sometimes all the way until noon. Ray had taken to sleeping in the library, on the chaise lounge. That way, he didn't know whether his lover was home or not, and could pretend that he had arrived right on time, and even that he was in their bed, missing him. When Krieger  _ was _ home, he tiptoed around Ray, giving him clipped answers to any attempt at conversation. Eventually, Ray just stopped trying. It was far from the first time Krieger had been in a mood, but usually, they lasted a few hours, at most. This had lasted days and days.

Ari and Ray’s glasses of iced tea were sweating huge drops because of the humidity, but Ray didn't mind the heat. In fact, he enjoyed it; he was always so goddamn cold. However, to preserve his hair, he removed his turban, and ran his hand through the sweaty blonde strands. He was adorned only in his usual thin robe, embroidered with a tiger, while Ari was in slacks and a button-down, though he'd rolled up one of his sleeves as far as it would go. He crouched over his sketchbook, listening to the jaunty German music on his portable radio. Occasionally, when certain songs came on, he would shut the radio until it was over. Ray didn't question this. He guessed that these songs held memories for Ari - some bitter, some sweet, and some, certainly, a mixture of the two.

"Hands?" said Ray. 

"Huh?"

He pointed to Ari's sketches. "Whose hands are those?"

"No one's. I'm just practicing."

Ray saw right through that one. "Ryan would take you back, if you were willing."

Ari kept drawing. His hand was shaking, and Ray smelled drugs on him.

"He probably didn't even see the tattoo, not really. Details don't register during a scuffle."

"It's not a detail. There's no missing it."

Ray peered at Ari's concealed arm, but said nothing more about it. "What else have you drawn, recently?"

The tiniest, saddest smile. "Body parts."

_ "Pardon?" _

"Today, his hands. Yesterday, his lips, and his eyes, the day before that." He sighed. "If only I could make him forget!"

“Or make yourself forget.”

Ari rubbed his lips together. This meant he was trying to say something, but couldn’t get the words out.

"I'll bet he's just nervous about Abelard," he said, eventually.

“What?”

“Aaron. I know he’s been behaving strangely.”

"Maybe." Ray wasn’t surprised by the sudden subject change - that was par for the course when conversing with Ari - but he doubted this theory of nerves. Of course he was nervous, he’d have to be, but when Aaron had doubts, he turned to Ray and let himself fall into his loving arms. He'd done it when he'd had to decide whether he truly wanted to he turned; He'd done it when Arnold and Ari arrived, lamenting that his own brothers were strangers; He'd even come to Ray about Abelard before, and his conviction that his twin was dead, a ghost in the wind. He didn’t turn away from Ray when he felt helpless. No, something bigger than nerves was eating him. 

Ari himself was certainly nervous, not only because of the prospective reunion his brother. He hadn’t stopped thinking about the mysterious condition Ray had mentioned that fateful day. He was sure it was the cause of Aaron’s odd habits, like sleeping through the day and working all night, as well as his sour mood, but he didn’t have the first clue as to what the illness actually  _ was _ . He wondered if he would inherit it; he frequently had trouble sleeping, and once he did fall into slumber, always woke up within an hour or two. Had it begun to set in? He wiped his runny nose and winced. The skin was red tender from the codeine he’d been snorting.

Sapphire and crimson shades began streaking the sky around 6:30. Ray heard a low rumble of an engine and realized Krieger was leaving for work. He hadn't said goodbye. He hadn't in weeks, but that didn't make Ray feel any better. 

Rather than sit around, wasting another day worrying, he decided to do something he'd been putting off. 

 

"Do you give all of your customers such meager attention?" Ray snapped over the chatter of the crowd. He was at Dreamland, observing. He'd been altogether too scarce, lately, and had realized weeks ago that he had no clue what kind of business they were doing. There were, of course reports - monthly, weekly, daily, and hourly if he wanted them - but with Archer behind the bar and his mother managing the front of house, forgery was all too easy. 

_ "You're _ not a customer," said Archer, shaking a drink. Ray eyed Archer’s muscular arms. Not bad, he thought, if only they were attached to literally anyone else on the planet.  "Can you let me focus and do my job?"

"Would it kill you to smile while you do it?"

Archer turned to him, and with a sarcastically wide grin, poured the drink into the glass, flourishing the motion dramatically.

"That's perfect!"

Archer rolled his eyes, but maintained his signature smirk as he chatted with several customers at once. He wasn't perfect at the job, but Ray had to give him credit. He was good.

Ray, meanwhile, had a pleasant buzz going. He used to go out and have a drink pretty frequently. Being single, he was his own companion, and he had fun. Tonight, he was wearing a regular suit of his, and no makeup, which he considered an exciting ensemble; he so rarely wore men's clothes, it was thrilling to be in public, masquerading as one of these normal, average people. 

Ray checked his watch. A quarter after midnight, and there was some good traffic for a Thursday night - that is, Friday morning. Maybe those reports were accurate, after all.

Smiling, Ray raised his gaze and began to call Archer over for his next drink, when, through the haze of smoke and the dim purple lighting, he noticed a familiar face at the other end of the bar. 

Aaron.

What the ever-loving fuck?

Ray slipped off his chair and wrestled through the crowd toward Aaron. At the last moment, he hesitated, and remained hidden behind several large men. He was debating whether to make himself known, when he heard Archer's greeting. 

"Welcome back, doc!"

_ "Ja." _

"The usual?"

Krieger must've nodded, since Ray heard no response. 

_ The usual.  _ As far as Ray knew, Krieger had only been here once before, back before he’d been turned. Evidently, this was false. He seemed to be a regular. It was suddenly very clear that he was not and never had been working late. Ray cursed himself for being correct in his suspicions.

He waded through the crowd and approached Krieger, tapping his shoulder. Again, Ray reprimanded himself for morbid enjoyment: he couldn’t help but get off a little bit at the look on Aaron's face, and how what started as annoyance turned to confusion, realization, and finally, fear. He knew he shouldn’t relish those feelings, not on his lover’s gorgeous face, but he did anyway. 

"Ray?" The soft sound of his voice, saying his name, made Ray want to forget the whole thing. But he couldn't. 

"Are you working late tonight?"

"I…No, I suppose not."

Ray only nodded. 

"Are you…Am I in trouble?"

"You're a grown man,  _ mon jouet. _ I'm only thinking…"

Krieger stood from the stool so they were face to face.

"I was going to say, 'I wonder how you survived thirteen years among the Nazis, with a fake identity, while you couldn't even keep this secret.' But then, I realized, if I've caught this lie, there must be more beneath the surface."

Instantly, Krieger's eyes widened. "Ray."

"What do you want?" He was blinking away tears. 

Krieger pulled him into a hug, disregarding the fact they were in public. (Besides, if one didn't want to see male affection, they wouldn't be in Dreamland after midnight.)

_ "Liebe, _ I love you."

The tension in Ray's back and shoulders melted away. "It's been weeks since I heard you say that."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"I don't trust you."

Krieger didn't answer. When Ray looked up at his face, it was neutral. 

_ "Mon jouet?" _

"Why don't you go on home?"

Never once in his life had Ray taken orders from one of his lovers, much less one that he was upset with. But there was something so reasonable in his tone, that Ray decided not to argue. 

"I’ll meet you there," he said. Krieger didn't reply. Head hanging like a puppy dog, Ray obeyed. 

He drove with the window rolled down. August nights had the sweetest air. 

He expected everyone to be asleep - it was one thirty in the morning, now that he'd driven up through the mountains - but when he opened the door, the sound of music greeted him. He followed the sound to the nook just off of the kitchen. 

Ari and Arnold were at the table, arms slung around each other's shoulders, singing along to the song.

Though still distinctly German, the tune was an imitation island tune, with ukuleles and bongo drums, much more lighthearted than the soldier's choruses Ray and Ari usually listened to.

_ "Über Nacht ging unser Traum vorbei,  _

_ und mein Glück blieb zurück auf Hawaii.  _

_ Aloa Oe, Aloa Oe - " _

Ray cleared his throat, interrupting the sloppy performance. When the boys turned to him in surprise, he spotted the endless bottles of beer on the table.

"Naughty boys! Do you know what time it is?"

Ari purred, "Naughty, hm?"

"You're drunk! I wouldn't believe it if I weren't looking at it."

"Are you going to punish me,  _ Herr Gillette?" _

Slurring around his clumsy English, Arnold pointed out,  _ "I sink I should be out of ze room for zat!" _

"Both of you should be in bed." When Ari opened his mouth, Ray snapped, "No jokes!"

"Even if I beg?"

Though he shook his head and scolded the brothers to their rooms (with great effort - it was a good thing they were drunk, so that neither of them noticed Ray's subtle use of telekinesis to help poor Arnold upstairs with his bad leg), they were all smiling. 

Ray retreated to his own room and ran a bath for himself. As he read his book, his mind drifted, and he didn't check the clock until it was nearly three in the morning. The water wasn't warm anymore, and the bubbles were gone. Ray was disappointed; he'd wanted Krieger to find him lounging in the tub. 

It was then that he realized he'd been played. Krieger had sent him home, with no promise as to whether he'd be joining him there. He was probably good and drunk by now, Ray thought, but then he had another realization: Dreamland closed at 2. 

Ray sank into the cool water. This was bad, he knew, but he hesitated to get angry. If he couldn't keep his partner's attention, that was his fault. 

Wasn't it?

 

"You shouldn't smoke," said Krieger, lighting himself another cigarette. "You'll ruin your heart."

"Hypocrite."

"I don't have to worry." He was sitting in a creaky chair by the window, looking out over the city’s grey sunrise. After months at Ray's, he'd forgotten what a true city skyline really looked like. Not to mention the size of a typical apartment. He looked around the one he was sitting in and wondered, had they always been this small? Did he really used to live in one of these?

"Wanna go again, Doc?"

"I'd better get home."

"It’s only five in the morning. Won’t Ray be asleep?"

He winced at the sound of his lover’s name, almost offended that the man had said it out loud.

“He’ll just be eating dinner.” He could picture it. Ray would be working on a pastry, now, and a glass of wine, while Poovey, Cheryl, Ari, and Arnold had a pot roast, or some similar home-cooked meal. 

"One more round, then?"

Krieger looked around the tiny apartment. Despite the jaunty record that was playing, there was no energy left in the room. He always got depressed after sex, but this was even worse than usual. Everything just looked lifeless to him. 

"I'm worn out."

"Are you sure? You did win me, after all," said Archer, leaning back in bed and ashing his cigarette. 

Krieger stood. "Do you mind if I use the shower?" He knew the answer, but he asked permission every time they did this.

Archer made a vaguely affirmative gesture. He was already falling asleep. 

Krieger showered quickly, and used more than his fair share of soap, praying, as he did every time, that Archer's scent wouldn't linger on him. 

He stopped at the drugstore and had a sandwich on his way home, mostly just stalling until his hair was dry. His hands shook as he sipped his coffee. Affairs weren't his thing, he wasn't this person. But this wasn't an affair. A week hardly counts, especially compared to the infinite lifetime he had ahead of him. He never even spent the whole night. This was nothing.

After fixing Ryan up, Krieger had found himself at Dreamland, venting his frustrations (numerous and long-winded) to the bartender. Though, he'd come to think of Archer more as a friend. Archer offered him his two never-fail remedies for any and all ailments: shots and sex. 

They did work, he felt better, for a little bit. But once the sex was over and the sun rose, it all became so  _ real. _ He regretted it instantly, feeling sick and filthy.

He didn't even have an excuse; he was German, so the two vodka shots he'd had didn't even bring him to the cusp of intoxication.

Even worse was the fact he went back, again and again, for more. He savored the guilt, churning his gut, finally making him  _ feel  _ something, as unpleasant as it was.

But, Ray never had to know, so what was he worried about? Archer knew telling Ray about this would cost him his job (and possibly his life), and Krieger certainly wasn't going to say anything. His secret would stay kept unless he wanted it out. He had years of practice in that department. Double lives and Doctor Krieger were not strangers. 

This was what he told himself, over and over.

He pretended to be reading some pulp novel as he ate a reuben without tasting it. All it did was form a lump in his stomach, but he didn’t care. He was just killing time until the cycle started over again.

 

_ August 14th. 3 days until Abelard’s arrival. _

“Well, look what the cat dragged in! You’re early,  _ mon cher, _ it’s ten in the morning, you don’t usually arrive until noon, at least!” Ray was sitting at the kitchen table with Arnold. They each had a cup of coffee in front of them - Arnold’s was black, and it was his second helping, while Ray’s, despite being mostly Irish cream, was nearly untouched. It was the first time Ray had acknowledged Krieger’s latenight lifestyle - or Krieger himself, for that matter - since they’d run into each other at Dreamland.

“What are you doing up?” His voice was cracked and dry. Too much alcohol, lately, it was drying him out. The cigarettes (tobacco and marijuana alike) probably weren’t doing him any favors, either. He took out a mug and poured himself a tall cup of coffee.

“We’re making a grocery list for Poovey. I want all of your brother’s favorite foods ready when he arrives.”

Krieger paused from stirring sugar into his coffee, digesting the bitter guilt assaulting him. He knew Ray had purposely not uttered his twin’s name, because he knew the sound of it was like nails on a chalkboard for him. Such a small gesture, but it showed his love, and made his disloyalty all the more heinous by comparison.

Arnold was decidedly clumsier. “Abelard loves Kugel, right? Or is that me?”

“You don’t remember?”

Arnold shook his head. “I barely remember Abelard! Things come and go; my mind is blank before...the war.”

Krieger shivered, the cold chill he always got when that place was implied, or when Arnold rolled up his sleeves.

“Ari holds onto most memories for me, he tells stories and things to remind me, but he’s at work now.”

Ray rested a hand upon Arnold’s shoulder. “If we neglect to put something on the list, I’ll take you to the market myself.”

_ “Herr Gillette, verzeih mir bitte,  _ but I daresay you couldn’t find your way to the grocer’s with a map in hand!”

The Frenchman scoffed, but didn’t object.

“Arnold,” said Krieger, smiling in the glow of childhood memories, “I know you remember how to make challah.”

Arnold furrowed his eyebrows. “I’ve never made challah in my life.”

Krieger knew this to be false. Where Abelard and Aaron had each other, and Ari had Mama, Arnold, the middle child, was more than once treated as an afterthought. To make up for this, Papa insisted they cook together every Shabbat. Arnold hated the task, but eventually realized that doing a good job quickly was much more rewarding than a poor job slowly. Every week, he was responsible for the challah, and every week, the slightly misshapen braid was a touch more perfected, until he could produce a perfect loaf in his sleep.

“I don’t know the first thing about bread.”

Krieger swallowed the lump in his throat. “I must have been mistaken.” He poured his remaining coffee down the drain, snuck one of Poovey’s beers from the refrigerator, and drank it upstairs in bed.

Ari arrived home early and was able to recall practically every meal he and his brothers had ever shared. In exchange for this knowledge, he requested that no soup or thin stew be prepared in the house so close to the emotionally trying ordeal of his long-lost brother’s arrival. No one objected, and the matter was put to rest.

Ray didn’t end up in bed until one o’clock in the afternoon - well into the wee hours of the morning, for his internal clock. Krieger was feigning sleep, but after several minutes, Ray’s piercing gaze on the back of his head became unbearable. He rolled over and faced him, able to see clearly despite the pitch blackness of the room.

“What is it?”

Ray reached out and cupped Krieger’s cheek. “I wish you didn’t have to suffer so.”

“I’m not suffering.”

Krieger stiffened as Ray inched closer.  _ “Mon jouet…” _

He sighed. “Fine. But everyone has to suffer. That’s life.”

“Not like this.”

“Yeah, well. It’s all so cushy compared to what they went through.”

“I’m proud of you.”

Krieger eyed Ray, suspicious.

“You’ve been asked to deal with so much, and I think you’ve handled it as well as anyone possibly could.”

From behind him, Krieger heard his bedside drawer open, and the hollow sound of the beer bottle he’d hidden rolling around inside. He turned and looked over his shoulder, and saw the bottle float into the air, slowly and shakily across the room, and finally, out the bedroom door. When he turned back to Ray, he was beaming at his own handiwork.

“I couldn’t stand that yeast smell anymore. But pretty impressive magic,  _ non? _ I’ve been practicing.”

“I thought vampires’ powers came naturally.”

“The capacity, yes, but precision and skill require practice. I just recently got the hang of doorknobs; It was years before I could lift more than three pounds, or control a person.”

Something about those last few words rubbed Krieger the wrong way, so it was with a bit of grit in his voice that he lamented, “I don’t think I have a power.”

“You’re just too anxious to access it.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Drinking and other forms of intoxication aren’t conducive to real spiritual tranquility. I think you’ll be much closer to discovering your power once your brother arrives.”

“If he arrives.”

“Aaron…”

Krieger rolled back over, and Ray didn’t push the issue. It took hours, but he eventually drifted into an uneasy sleep, and in the morning, he recalled snippets of the dream he’d been having lately: himself, sitting on a train, staring out the window as the landscape flew by.

 

_ August 15th. The day before Abelard’s arrival. _

Krieger awoke, as he usually did, at five in the afternoon. Something was different, but he couldn’t tell what. He sorted through his mental index of sensory perceptions: he had a bad taste in his mouth, but that was normal in the morning; nothing appeared out of place; he smelled eggs cooking, probably his and Ray’s breakfast; he heard...not much. That was it.

He turned over and jostled Ray.

“Aaron?”

“Is it quiet in here to you?”

Ray sat up and rubbed his eyes as he listened.  _ “Non... _ Poovey and Cheryl are in the kitchen, the sprinkler is running…”

“What about Ari and Arnold? They should both be home by now!”

“They’re at their apartment, waiting for your brother, in case he arrives early. Remember?”

Krieger stared up at the ceiling. “Oh, yeah.”

Ray laid back down and pulled the blankets over his face. “You scared me,  _ mon cher, _ I thought you’d had a nightmare.”

“No.”  _ Just living in one. _ He rose creakily and headed to the bathroom to wash up.

From under the covers, Ray called, ”Why do you have to work today?”

“People get sick.”

“Don’t you want to stay, and help me prepare the house?”

_ Not even a little bit. _ “Of course, but I can’t.”

“That’s alright, so long as you’re home by nine tomorrow morning; that’s when your brother will arrive.”

Krieger shut the bathroom door before the conversation could proceed any further. 

 

By half past twelve, he was in Archer’s apartment, smoking a cigarette in one hand and a reefer with the other.

“What’s the big deal?” asked Archer, pouring two shots of whiskey. 

“What’s the big deal about reuniting with my twin after being separated for fourteen years by the ravages of the second world war?”

“Yeah. Shouldn’t you be happy? You’re such a tightass.” He paused and smiled to himself. “Impeccable phrasing.”

Krieger raised the cigarette to his lips, watching Archer pop the caps off of two bottles of cola. He pushed Krieger’s bottle and shot glass across the table toward him, loosened his tie, and threw back a shot, immediately followed by a sip of soda. He didn’t bother mixing the whiskey and cola in a glass anymore. The ice was pleasant, but eventually it just melted and got in the way.

Archer took the reefer from Krieger so he could take his shot. Krieger was never much of a drinker - beer, sometimes, but if he really wanted to be impaired it was cocaine for work and marijuana for play - but since discovering Dreamland, hard liquor was his best friend. He didn’t flinch as he threw back the whiskey and poured himself another helping, ignoring the soda altogether. The radio blared on in the background as they approached that warm, fuzzy headspace they always aspired to. It was late, so the music was slow and romantic. Krieger didn’t care for it; in fact, he grew annoyed the more he listened. Whose idea was it to play “Autumn in New York” during mid-August in California?

“I love this song,” said Archer.

Of course.

“I’m from New York.”

Krieger didn’t respond. Quite frankly, he didn’t want to know anything about Archer that he couldn’t discern with his eyes.

Archer was humming along to the music as he brought the shot glass to his lips, when a jarring sound like gunshots tore through the air around them. Krieger jumped in his seat, ready to fight or fly as needed, before realizing it was just firecrackers in the street below. He heard children laughing and sat back down, trembling.

It was a moment before he noticed Archer. In the split second between the sound and Krieger’s realization, Archer had drawn his gun and poised himself at the window, ready to fire. Krieger could hear his heart racing so quickly it had to hurt.

“It’s just firecrackers,” said Krieger.

Archer didn’t move for a long time. When he finally let the curtain fall out of his hand, his heart rate was no slower. He’d just begun to return to his chair when the sound rang out again.

In an instant, half his body was out the kitchen window.

“Stop that!”

“Mind your business,” called one of the teens, and the others laughed.

“Are you fucking serious?” He leaned out further, and his undone tie fell off his neck, fluttering to the ground. “I’m coming down there, and if you’re still there by the time I get downstairs, I swear to Christ - !”

The kids scattered.

Panting, a little, Archer shut the window and drew the curtains tightly. He remained there staring at the tobacco-stained linen as his heart finally began to slow down. Krieger could smell the adrenaline on him and, for the first time, felt empathy with Archer. He knew all too well the images that were flashing behind those blue eyes: planes overhead, gunfire, the sickly rich smell of the blood-soaked soil as he crawled through the trenches, the gust of air as a bullet whizzed past his ear, the sinking feeling of a knock to his helmet, looking down to see it was a grenade, the helpless ragdoll feeling of flying through the air a second later. 

He jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder, but it was only Krieger, holding out his shot glass. Archer accepted, and drank gratefully.

“How buzzed are you?” asked Archer.

“Between the whiskey and the pot, I’m a bit more than buzzed.”

Archer nodded and turned to face Krieger. “You about ready to…?”

They were standing rather close. “Aren’t you going to get your tie?”

“Fuck it.” He was still shaking, slightly.

“Forget about them,” said Krieger. “They’re stupid kids.”

“‘Forget’! Wow, I never thought of that! Maybe I should get a doctorate, too, so I’ll have a bright idea like that for once.”

So much angst. That’s not what he was here for. Krieger closed what little gap there was between them, silently glad that Archer kissed back rather than try to continue the conversation. Besides this gratitude, he felt the rush he always did when they kissed. It was like the feeling of a car crash, total helplessness while spinning out of control.

They made their way to bed, undressing themselves as they went. Archer grabbed the whiskey bottle off the table and brought it with him. Krieger sipped it as Archer put on a condom and got himself hard. He wrinkled his nose at the taste - the liquor was really starting to hit him.

Archer chuckled at this.

“Whiskey’s kicking your ass right now, huh?”

“I got too much in my mouth.”

“Um, phrasing.” He took the bottle and drank for several seconds straight. 

“Wow.”

“Right? You’re a pussy.”

“I think you just have a problem.”

“What, like you don’t have any?”

“Good point.” He rolled over, taking a pillow in his arms and hugging it, as he always did. Archer got to work behind him, as he always did.

“You’re quiet today,” said Archer. “Got whiskey dick?”

“I have a lot on my mind.”

“Gross.”

The good thing about Archer was the detachment. Something about feeling the other man’s muscular hands on his hips alleviated the crushing burden of the world on his shoulders. The fact that he was always drunk or high or both helped, too. When Archer was fucking him, it was like everything - good and bad - disappeared for awhile, in favor of juvenile rutting. It was a relief, not having to think, and it occurred to him that this must be what rest felt like. He never rested; even in his dreams, he was always doing something. Lately he’d been trying to figure out the significance of his dream of the train. It was odd, but better than most other images that came to him in his sleep, so he didn’t mind it.

He could tell when Archer was getting close because he got sweaty. When he felt it drip onto his back (he never turned to see, but it presumably rolled off his nose or thick hair) he knew Archer was approaching orgasm. That was when he tried to ground himself, focus on the sensation of being fucked, and the friction of his dick rubbing against the sheets, rather than the searing feeling of  _ wrongness  _ in his stomach.

He felt a hot hand on his back and opened his eyes in surprise. The room was swirling around him.

“You alright, doc? I can stop.”

“I’m just really drunk.”

“Me too. Isn’t it the best?”

Krieger vaguely remembered finishing, because he had to stand beside the bed while Archer changed the sheets. He could recall woozily hobbling into the bathroom and splashing cold water on his face, resolving to shower later. Archer must’ve told him it was alright to take a nap, because he remembered climbing under the thin covers and watching the ceiling spin for a moment before passing out.

 

The next thing he remembered was pain to his face and a disgusting taste in his dry mouth. When he opened his eyes, they nearly caught fire; the sun was shining into them, streaming through the curtain. He realized his face must be sunburnt. Confusion - Ray never left the curtains ajar - before he remembered where he was, and the fact that it was morning. 

He sat up and looked at the clock.

8:45, and he was at least half an hour away.

_ “Scheisse!” _

“You’re still here?” grumbled Archer.

Krieger didn’t respond. He threw on his clothes without buttoning his shirt, tied his tie as he wrestled his shoes on, and ran out the door.

Traffic had never frustrated him more, not even when he was outrunning the police on his way to the marina back in Germany. It was more than a quarter past nine when he finally arrived home.

Ray peered at him over the third floor balcony the moment the door closed.

“There you are!” He began descending the stairs.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry, they’re not here yet.” He wrinkled his nose, though he was still two flights away. “What on Earth do you smell like?”

“I need a shower.”

They met in the middle landing. Ray stopped Krieger from passing with a firm hand to his chest.

_ “Non, mon jouet…” _ His nostrils flared, and there was a peculiar look on his face. “What do you smell like?”

“I was drinking. I’m sorry.”

_ “Non _ , what  _ is  _ that?” He buried his nose in Krieger’s neck. “It’s so familiar, but I can’t place it.”

“I don’t know what to tell you.”

“It’s booze, marijuana...I think you were at Dreamland? But what... “

It was possible to tell the exact moment Ray realized who he was smelling on his lover’s skin. His eyebrows raised and he took a step back, gazing into Krieger’s eyes in disbelief.

“Tell me I’m mistaken...”

Krieger didn’t respond, which was an answer in itself. Nothing happened for several long seconds. Then, he heard the first crack. The vase on the table behind Ray had shattered.

The hair on Krieger’s arms and neck stood up rigidly straight. He felt Ray’s energy in the air around him, suffocating him. 

Many things happened at once: The wood of the banister began to splinter, and there was a high electrical whine before glass rained down on them from lightbulbs above. With a sound like a hurricane wind, every one of the numerous candles in the foyer, sconces on the wall, and upstairs landing lit up with golden flames. 

Ray’s eyebrows were raised high, but other than that, his face remained stony. The bright flames illuminated his brown eyes, making them look honey-colored. 

“What have I done to you?” he whispered. 

“What?”

“What have I done to make you hate me so?” The flames around them were crackling, and they were so high that scorch marks were beginning to appear on the wallpaper. “Why do I deserve this?”

“You don’t.”

“Then  _ why?!” _ His composure finally broke, and he stamped his foot as his face crumpled. “Why?!”

“It’s me,  _ Liebe, _ not you. Here’s something missing inside  _ me!” _

“And yet you punish me for it!” He wiped a hot tear on the sleeve of his kimono, frustrated that he couldn’t control himself.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I can’t even believe it. You seemed so harmless...” Mascara ran down his cheeks, staining his kimono from his futile attempts to clean his face. He felt like something had snapped in his brain. His head was pounding, and he was coming unhinged.

“Aaron, I need to hear you say it.”

“I’m sorry. I love you.”

_ “Non.  _ Admit what you’ve done.” He still had hope that this was all a misunderstanding. How could his Aaron, his creation, do something so brutal?

Krieger looked down at his boots in shame.

“Look me in the eyes and admit what you’ve done.”

It was the least he could do, really. Krieger met Ray’s gorgeous eyes, flickering in the candlelight.

“I had sex with Archer.”

Another great  _ whoosh _ as the flames shot into the air, and quite suddenly, went out altogether.

“Was this the first time?”

He was looking at his boots again. He noticed one was undone and crazily wondered if he should bend down and tie it.

“Meet my eyes.”

He obeyed, barely. “No. It wasn’t.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“A couple of weeks.”

Ray nodded. “Working late, eh,  _ mon jouet?  _ Saving lives?”

“I’m sorry.”

“You know what _ mon jouet?” _ Tears were still streaming down his face, but he stopped bothering to wipe them. Black, mascara-tinted tears stained the carpet. “You’re  _ son jouet, _ now.”

“What?”

“If he likes playing with you so much, he can have you.”

“Ray, no, what - ”

“Just be warned,  _ jouet, _ his span of attention is even shorter than yours.”

“Ray, please!”

Ray regarded Krieger for a moment, then turned on his heel, and headed upstairs.

“Ray…”

And just then, the front door opened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was a packed chapter!! Finally an explanation for that one tag you've probably been wondering about lol! Leave a comment please, or head over to lesbiansterlingarcher on tumblr for archer content. anon is always on :)


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